Slaves to Freedom
by TyWaltonka
Summary: A post-DA2 story about the revolution of the mages, featuring characters from both Origins and Dragon Age 2. Couples and desperate fights for freedom abound! femHawke/Anders Alistair/Surana Carver/OC
1. Chapter 1

Margaret Hawke looked dumbly out at the burning city of Kirkwall. Words were inadequate to describe the destruction she had witnessed- the battle for the city had seemed endless, wreathed in flames whose touch still lingered at the ends of her singed fingers and hair. Beside her stood Anders, breathing deeply, and inscrutable in the darkness.

'We can't linger here,' Margaret said at last. 'We need to leave, and soon.'

Anders shuddered. 'The Templars will be coming for us now.'

She nodded. 'And we have a duty to finish what we started.'

The others were waiting for them a few miles away, milling around Varric's campfire. They were all silent, even Isabela, and only looked on as the two mages approached. Without speaking Varric passed Margaret a bowl of stew with a roughly hewn wooden spoon sticking out from the top. She took it gratefully before sitting down beside him on the ground. When she was finished she stood up, and twirling the spoon in her fingers, turned to face the others.

'What we have done tonight,' she began, locking eyes with each of them in turn, 'was immense. We have proven to the world that tyranny will no longer be allowed to continue. We have shown them that a Templar can no longer beat a mage to the ground and expect to walk away, that they cannot feed off the fear they install within us. We are free men and women and we will fight!'

Margaret paused and took a deep breath to steady herself. 'But I don't expect you all to die for a cause that isn't your own.' Fenris shifted uneasily at this, his green eyes troubled in the flickering light from the fire. 'I won't ask you to. But Anders and I are both going on and what we aim to achieve will not be easy- it will be full of blood and trial. If you want to leave, I suggest you do so now and get ahead of the Templars, because after tonight they _will _be looking for you and the last thing I want is to see any of you fall into their hands.'

No one responded for a moment and then Varric stood up, rolling his shoulders and hoisting Bianca over his back. 'You know me, Hawke. I can't resist a challenge- and how's Blondie gonna have fun without me?'

For the first time in days a smile broke over Anders' features. 'I'm travelling with Hawke, Varric. Do you really want to know?'

'Uh, now that I think about it- not really.' Varric chuckled and looked up at Margaret. 'I'm with you Hawke. I don't have anywhere else to go anyway.'

Merril, who had been leaning on a tree a few feet away suddenly perked up and said, 'Neither do I. You're my best friend and I won't abandon you to fight the Templars alone. You gave me a new life when I lost my clan, lethallin, and there's no going back.'

Fenris stepped forward and buried his sword point first in the ground, folding his hands over the pommel- a snarling demon. 'I thought you in the wrong when we first met,' he said slowly and deliberately, looking Margaret in the eye, 'but after what I have seen, after the madness of that woman and what it produced, I can't stand by. I may not always agree with you, Hawke, but I cannot go back to my old way of thinking either. You helped me kill Danarius- you helped me to free myself. If I stand by and let this war go on without doing anything then I am only what I was before. I'm with you to the end. Whatever that means,' he finished darkly, pulling his sword free.

There were only two people left- Aveline and Isabela. Margaret turned to them, her heart beating furiously in her chest. Aveline sighed and shook her head. 'Don't look at me like that. I stood with you before. I'm not backing down now.'

Isabela raised her eyebrows and twirled one of her daggers in her hand before dropping it back in its sheath. 'What can I say?' she purred. 'You've made a revolutionary out of me.'

Hawke smiled and looked around at her friends, all of them exhausted and bloody, but more determined than she had ever seen them. 'You don't know what this means to me,' she said softly, 'I never thought you would all stay- yet here you are.'

She coughed and turned to face Anders, the moisture bright in her eyes. 'We have a revolution to lead.'

The next day they gathered their things. Everyone was slow and stiff, but nobody complained. 'So, where do we go first?' Varric asked, falling in beside Margaret as they set off.

'We need supplies- but I don't know much about the Free Marches. Kirkwall's the only city I've seen here.'

'There's a town a few miles east,' said Isabela, stretching sensuously and yawning. 'I don't remember what it's called, but I do remember it had the best mutton in the _world_. If you all go in and stock up I promise you won't be disappointed.'

'Why can't you go, Isabela?' asked Merril. 'Didn't you make any friends?'

Isabela laughed. 'No, kitten, I didn't. Let's just leave it at that.'

Margaret's mouth began watering at the mention of mutton and her stomach suddenly rumbled mutinously. 'Alright, I think that's our destination,' she said, strapping on her staff. 'I don't think we should all go in though. It might draw attention .'

'I'll go-' began Anders, but Aveline interrupted him.

'I will,' she said firmly, glaring at the mage. 'Nobody knows who I am. It's better that way.'

Anders nodded. 'I guess you're right.'

'I know I am,' replied Aveline.

They continued walking and Margaret slowed down to fall into step with the former guard captain. 'Do you know what happened to Donnic?' she asked quietly.

'Yes,'Aveline replied, 'I spoke to him before we left. He's staying in Kirkwall to restore order as best he can, and to protect the civilians. He's a good man.'

'Did you ask him to come with us?'

Aveline shook her head. 'No. I couldn't. This isn't his fight- but I'll see him again. One day soon, I hope.' She turned and glared at Hawke. 'So you better win. I want to be able to go home to my husband when this is all over.'

Margaret laughed and clicked her fingers, summoning a small tongue of flame. 'Trust me Aveline- I don't intend to do otherwise.'

They made camp a few hours later.

'Alright, I'll go in and see what I can find,' said Aveline, preparing to leave.

Varric moved to follow her and said, 'Uh, Red? Don't you think storming in there with your armour and your sword, scaring the shit out of everyone, is a little bit conspicuous?'

'I don't know,' said Anders cheerfully, 'I rather like the idea of a few Templars finding us- it means we get to teach them a lesson.'

Margaret looked over at him and sighed. He had been elated and exuberant all day, his good humour restored after their victory in Kirkwall. The trouble was, she was afraid he meant the things he said, and that when his mood swung again (which it inevitably would) he would act on them. 'I think they've learned enough for now,' she said with a note of finality that Anders seemed not to notice. 'Leave your sword and armour here, Aveline. Take one of Isabela's daggers. Hide it in your boot.'

Isabela passed her blade and muttered, 'Be nice to it, okay? This one's my favourite. I take it to bed with me.'

Aveline sneered. 'I'd feel better with a sword, but okay. I understand.' She slipped the dagger into her boot and quickly unbuckled her armour.

'My, my, big girl,' Isabela mused, looking on, 'you are good at that. Did you have to practice with Donnic? I don't imagine there's much time to do the dirty at the barracks.'

'Shut up.' Aveline finished and took a few coins from Margaret's pouch. 'I'll be back soon.'

As soon as she left Margaret turned around and saw Anders was already frowning, lost in one of his dour moods again. Isabela, Varric and Merril had all settled down to play cards and politely deigned not to notice as Margaret took his hand and pulled him away.

When they were alone Anders pulled himself away from her and slumped against a tree stump. 'I'm a monster,' he said venomously, staring at his hands. 'How many people did I murder last night? And now I'm making jokes.'

Margaret stepped forward and placed her hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. 'You did what you had to do,' she murmured. 'When you said it I believed you, and I still do- there can be no compromises. There never would have been anyway, not with Meredith in charge. Thanks to you all mages in Thedas have a chance to be free. Don't give in to despair, Anders. Promise me.'

He raised his hands to hers. 'What did I do to deserve you?'

Margaret ignored him. 'Promise me,' she repeated, more firmly than before.

'I promise.'

She smiled then and sighed with relief, tipping her forehead to touch his. 'I can't believe this is really happening.'

'I don't know if it's a dream or a nightmare,' Anders replied grimly.

'If it was a nightmare,' said Margaret with a sudden chuckle, 'would I do this?' And she leant down, kissing him softly just below each ear.

For a moment Anders was stiff and unresponsive, then suddenly his mood shifted suddenly and whispered, 'definitely not,' before pulling Margaret tom him with a shuddering breath and wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling her mouth to his in a fierce, heated kiss. 'I missed you,' he murmured when they broke apart to breathe, reaching down to pull up her robe. 'After that day when I asked you to speak to the Grand Cleric, I felt like I was poisoning you whenever we touched-'

'It doesn't matter now.' Margaret hissed with pleasure, a sound that sent shivers up Anders' spine. She gasped and kissed him, running her fingers through his hair and across his back, leaving tingles of magic behind.

Anders turned and they both fell to the ground, entangled with each other.

An hour later, still not having returned to the others, Margaret was sleepily tracing idle patterns across Anders' chest, feeling something very close to contentment. 'There's something I wanted to tell you earlier,' she whispered, and then, grinning, continued, 'but something distracted me.'

'What was it?' Anders asked, stretching like a cat.

Margaret hesitated before continuing, suddenly nervous. 'I'm pregnant,' she said softly. 'I found out a week ago. I'm pregnant, Anders.'

There was a beat of silence. Anders sat up suddenly and turned to look down at her. 'You're…pregnant?' His mouth hung open and he looked at Margaret as if he could not believe his eyes. 'You're sure?'

Margaret bit her lip and nodded, feeling a little like she might throw up.

'That's…' He stared for a moment longer until an ecstatic grin broke out over his face. 'That's wonderful!' He laughed and pulled Margaret up by the waist and into his lap, kissing her repeatedly. 'We're going to have a child. A child! Ha!' Anders laughed again. 'Before I was unsure, I was even starting to doubt the cause, but it's so clear now! We're not just fighting for ourselves,' he said between kisses, 'we're fighting for our children. _Our _child.'

He pressed a hand to Margaret's stomach. 'We're going to _win_.'


	2. Chapter 2

Knight-Commander Cullen sat down at his desk- Meredith's desk, he remembered with a twinge of unease- and reached tiredly for a quill. With clear, precise handwriting he penned a letter to the King of Ferelden. It read;

_Your Majesty, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, _

_The news will no doubt reach you before my letter does- an uprising has occurred in Kirkwall and the mages here have split openly from the Chantry and the control of the Templars. Grand Cleric Elthina was killed in a bomb attack planted by a mage known as Anders, with assistance from Margaret Hawke. These two radical elements have their roots in your homeland and it has recently come to my attention that Anders is a former Grey Warden. _

_We may have had our differences in the past, Your Grace, but now is the time to set those aside. It is my fear that the apostates will go to you, or to Ferelden itself, for refuge. The hold of the Chantry is not so strong there and Anders' past duties as a Warden may gain him the esteem he needs to continue this revolt. I entreat you to remain vigilant- it is not my wish to start a war with the mages. I am not Meredith. I seek peace and reform as necessary but if the threat presented to the Chantry grows any more significant I may be facing an Exalted March. Your Majesty, I entreat you again, please heed my warning and inform me should any unease arise in your own country. Maker knows, I am not afraid to admit I need your support. _

_Yours Faithfully, _

_Acting Knight-Commander Cullen, Acting Viscount of Kirkwall. _

Cullen put down his quill and called out, 'Elsa!'

A moment later the Tranquil appeared and asked calmly, 'What do you require, Knight-Commander?'

'Bring me Ser Carver, as quickly as possible.'

'As you wish, Knight-Commander.'

When she was gone Cullen sighed and looked around his new office. He had always admired Meredith for her dedication to the cause, for her lack of vanity- she had been Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, the true power in the city for years, and her own office where she spent nearly all of each and every day was small, almost cramped, filled with books on the histories and politics of other nations. Guilt still haunted Cullen for turning against her in the end, but he recognised that she was no longer the woman he knew- he had known it the moment she had invoked the Right of Annulment. With a shudder he remembered the terrible moment as the Chantry imploded- the deafening roar as fire and blinding light erupted into the sky and over the city, showering everything in burning embers. The shock that followed it, like the moment you expect to find another step and only plummet to the ground- and the anger, the horrifying, cold anger that possessed Meredith afterwards as she remorselessly slew every mage they encountered- would haunt him to the end of his days.

Afterwards, it had been he and his men who had found the disfigured, monstrous body of Orsino in the gallows. The stench of death and rot emanating from it had been so severe that Cullen had struggled not to vomit in front of his troops, even as many others succumbed. He had sympathised with the First Enchanter many a time, particularly towards the end, and had genuinely grieved for him in the days that followed.

But there was no time for grief any longer. He had taken up command not only of the Templars, but of Kirkwall itself, and the job had proven staggering in the aftermath of the battle. Since adopting his new mantle of power Cullen had hardly slept, even when he had the opportunity, as anxiety left him lying restlessly in bed into the late hours of the night.

There was a knock on the door, and he was disturbed from his reverie.

'Enter.'

Ser Carver appeared, now a fully ordained Knight of the Order, and, after siding with Cullen in the fight against Meredith, his particular ally. 'Knight-Commander?' queried the Templar.

'Please, sit down.' Cullen gestured at the seat opposite his desk. 'I know there's growing unrest in the Order. After what occurred in the Gallows many of your peers sided with me because they were too shocked to do otherwise.' He paused, and pinched the bridge of his nose as the problem loomed before him once more. 'But the shock is wearing off now, and I know there are rumblings of retribution. Where do you stand in this, Carver?'

After the battle it seemed to Cullen that Carver's angry, uncertain nature had changed, becoming something more solid and unshakeable- he had become a man, tempered by fire. It was with a determined and confident outlook that he spoke now. 'I'm with you, Knight-Commander,' he replied steadily. 'I have heard the others talking- word has spread that the mages are gathering, forming an army, and after what they saw many Templars want to go after them immediately. They want to wipe them out, ser.'

Cullen sighed. 'So it is as I feared. Carver, I need you to be my eyes and ears in the order. I need you to help me get us out of this mess, before things escalate any more than they already have. If this talk isn't put an end to someone will act upon it, and we will be facing war. I think that's the last thing either of us wants.' He leaned forward. 'Will you help me stop it?'

Carver nodded, his eyes gleaming. 'Of course, Knight-Commander. I want peace between Templars and mages as much as you do. I will keep you informed on everything.'

'Thank you, Carver.' Cullen smiled in relief. 'You're free to go. Please tell Elsa I need to see her on your way out.'

Carver stood up and bowed before leaving. When Elsa came in a moment later Cullen told her to have his letter taken by messenger to Ferelden. 'I want it given to someone I can trust, Elsa. Do you understand? This letter is for the king alone.'

'Yes, Knight-Commander. It shall be as you say.'

When she was gone Cullen uttered a small prayer to the Maker and went over to a cabinet that rested in the room's back corner, consuming a great deal of space. Inside it was full of various papers and parchments, but there was a shelf near the top stacked with line upon line of perfectly symmetrical blue, glowing bottles. Lyrium. With a sigh of relief Cullen picked one up and emptied a small amount into a glass of water. He swallowed it in one and closed his eyes as the pain which had been throbbing in his temples and clouding his mind all day slowly receded. For some months now he had been trying to reduce his intake, but it was proving difficult, and sometimes during his sleepless nights he disappointed himself by drinking a whole bottle. 'Not again,' Cullen promised himself firmly, putting the bottle carefully back on the shelf and closing the door over it with a determined snap. 'Not again.'

He was due to meet with the nobles that evening. A grand dinner was being held in the Viscount's Keep, and no doubt they would harangue him with complaints he could do nothing about. The thought of it threatened to make his headache return. But he had a moment of peace for the moment at least. His thoughts turned, as they often did, to Neria, and the rumours that reached his ears about her relationship with the king. Hardly a day in the last year had passed without him thinking about the way he had spoken to her when they had last met, and each time he was filled with the same sinking sense of regret. At the time he may as well have been possessed by a demon himself- so angry and violent as he had been after Uldred's revolt. He had spoken about the mages in a way he knew she would never forgive him for, and had not heard from her since. He looked back on the years before it with a kind of irrepressible nostalgia- back then his life had seemed so much simpler, free of politics- and even as he knew this was not the case( he had been riddled with guilt over his obsession) freedom for the mages had seemed obvious to him, especially with her in the Tower, cheerfully helping him utter his stuttered sentences and offering him a kind smile whenever they passed in the halls. What she became still amazed and impressed him, even as he lamented that loss of innocence which had occurred since. The girl he had loved had long since disappeared, transformed into the hard Warden Commander who had carried the nation to victory against the Blight- but she still lingered in his thoughts, especially with the appearance of Margaret Hawke, who had reminded him of her in so many ways.

Cullen shook his head. This was not the time to be thinking about it. He had the rare opportunity to rest and he was obliged to try and attempt it.

That night Cullen turned his attention to the colossal problem of rebuilding the city and seeing to the victims of the battle. He took his seat at the head of the Viscount's table in the Keep as Kirkwall's leading nobility and the new Guard Captain Donnic gathered around him, all of them beginning to talk at once.

'Please!' Cullen called out over the pandemonium, raising a hand, 'everyone be silent- you will all be heard, but the first thing I must see to is the security of the city. Captain Donnic- where do we stand?'

Donnic swallowed and began to speak. 'All the fires have been extinguished, Knight-Commander, and my men are going to great lengths to curb looting and violence. But the problem is too widespread. I need more muscle to restore order.'

'Then you shall have it. I can spare seventy Templars for the job, Captain, and for now I'm afraid that's all. Hopefully people will begin to calm and no more will be required. What about casualties?'

'At the moment an estimated two thousand,' replied Donnic promptly. 'A pyre has been constructed in Lowtown for the bodies. We simply don't have the resources for a large-scale burial site. But the real problem is the injured- we're running out of places to keep them and medical supplies are completely gone. With no mages to act as healers we've found ourselves in an impossible situation, ser. Kirkwall hasn't held any positions for physicians for years and more people are dying every day because they have no access to aid.'

A few nobles tittered at this. 'It was the mages who caused this trouble!' hissed a paunch, older man with a bald plate on his head that glimmered with sweat.

Cullen took a breath and did not respond to him, keeping his attention fixed on Donnic. 'I'll do what I can. Report to the Gallows tomorrow at dawn and there should be something for you to collect.'

'Thank you, Knight Com-'

'And what about us?' interrupted a woman shrilly, her cheeks flushed with anger. 'My sons were killed by those damned mages and here we sit, doing nothing but licking our wounds!'

Another noble spoke up, glaring at her across the table. 'Lady Lorraine! The city barely stands and you're talking about sending out an army? Ludicrous!'

'That is a simple thing for a man to say who has lost nothing!' hissed Lady Lorraine in reply, rising in her seat and turning to face Cullen. 'I watched them die, Knight-Commander! I watched my sons die and your Templars did nothing! Then my home burned to the ground! What is to be done? Tell us!'

Cullen was silent for a moment, letting the attention of the room settle on him- a trick he had learned from First Enchanter Irving. 'This is not the time for rash action,' he said evenly. 'My lady, I sympathise with you, truly I do- believe me when I say that there are few who understand the danger posed by mages as surely as myself. I have served with the Templars my whole life. But if we abandon our efforts at recovery now I promise you that we will lose everything.' Cullen hesitated over his next words, trying to resist the flush of shame that threatened to expose him as he continued, 'We will go after the mages, and they will meet the justice of the Maker. But not before we are capable of pursuing them.'

There was a murmur of agreement at this and even Lady Lorraine seemed somewhat satisfied, but she was still fixing Cullen with an unwavering glance that made him uneasy. 'I want your word, Knight-Commander,' she said loudly, her voice carrying around the room. 'I want your word that those mages will be brought in to answer for their crimes and that they will meet justice tempered by the law, not by mercy.'

Cullen looked back at her, willing himself to remain blank as he said, 'You have my word.'


	3. Chapter 3

'May I?' asked Merril cautiously, taking a step towards Margaret, who only smiled and nodded. The Dalish pressed her hand to Margaret's belly, letting out a little 'ooh' that left Varric and Isabela chortling. 'I'm so happy for you both,' she said happily, looking across to Anders. 'You're so lucky! In the Dalish if a child was born with magic they might get taken to another clan.'

'It has magic?' Anders looked at with surprise. 'How can you even tell?'

'Why so surprised, Blondie?' asked Varric. 'Two scary mages like you- I'd be surprised if the kid didn't.'

'It's not that I'm surprised,' said Anders. 'It's just- how can you tell?'

Merril shrugged. 'The Keeper wasn't just the leader of the clan- they served as healers and guides. Some of the old knowledge survived, even to this day- even though it might not be what it used to be. This was just one of them, I suppose.' Suddenly she gasped and looked at Margaret. 'Oh! You didn't want it to be a surprise did you? I'm so sorry if you did. Oh, I'm so stupid sometimes, I should have asked before-'

'It's okay, Merril,' interrupted Margaret, holding out a hand to her friend. 'I expected this anyway. Can you tell if it's a boy or a girl?'

'Hold on a moment.' Merril pressed her hand to Margaret's stomach again, sending a slight jolt through her abdomen. 'A boy! You'll have a boy! Wow.'

'I hope having a baby doesn't make you boring, Hawke,' drawled Isabela, smiling slightly. When everyone turned to look at her she quickly laughed and said, 'Not that I'm not happy for you, of course. Does this mean you won't be boarding my ship?' She pouted at this last, causing Anders to draw a protective arm around Margaret's waist.

'She won't be boarding _anyone's _ship, Isabela,' he said firmly.

'That might be a little dull for you then, poppet.'

Everyone laughed at this before Aveline suddenly stood up and said, 'Not to spoil the moment, I'm very happy for you, Hawke, but we have a choice to make. The townsfolk are saying that the mages are amassing in Hercinia- the Chancellor there has given them an open invitation. If we want to continue this…rebellion, that's where we need to be.'

Margaret felt the smile slide off her face- in the wake of her announcement it had been easy to forget what they were facing now. 'You mean he sided against the Chantry? That's suicide.'

Varric snorted. 'You're only telling us this now? I'll bet the Chancellor thinks that with an army of mages with him he stands an even chance.'

'I'll hold you that,' smirked Isabela.

'This isn't something we should be joking about!' Anders told the other two hotly, his good mood gone as quickly as Margaret's, but- she noted with a touch of alarm- already descending into one of his dangerous rages. She placed a hand on his arm in a silent plea and he sucked in a quick breath before continuing, more calmly, 'This is serious. This is everything we've worked for.'

'I was just trying to lighten the tension before it turned into…well, this,' replied Isabela sulkily. 'Guess that didn't work.'

Merril patted a shoulder. 'It was a good try though.'

Margaret sat down on the ground. 'How far is it to Hercinia?' she asked, looking around.

'From here? Maybe two weeks travel- if we're lucky,' said Anders.

'Which I doubt we shall be,' Fenris muttered.

'Then the mages won't even be there yet,' surmised Margaret. 'It may just be a rumour.'

'It's all we have!' said Anders, nearly shouting, 'we can't just ignore it!'

Margaret held up her hands. 'I didn't say we would, Anders. I just want to be aware of all our options.' There was a beat of silence. 'Okay, maybe we don't have any other options.'

'The news about the Chancellor seemed true enough,' said Aveline, sitting down as well. 'He's been sympathetic to mages in the past.'

'That does not mean he will help them wage a war,' Fenris pointed out.

'It's not like we have anything else to go on.' Merril shrugged and looked around at all of them. 'I think we should go. The sooner the better, really. At least we can find out what's going on.'

'That's the most sensible thing I've heard out of you yet, Daisy,' said Varric, nodding in her direction.

'Thank you, Varric.'

Isabela crossed her legs and sat down with thump beside Margaret. 'It's up to you, Hawke. But I think we should leave. I don't really like hiding out in this creepy, old forest.'

Margaret sighed. 'What else can we do?' she said helplessly. 'We need to reach the other mages- and if they heard this rumour they'll be headed that way as well. It's the best chance we have.'

'Then it's settled,' said Anders firmly. 'We leave at dawn.'

'Wonderful,' replied Isabela with false cheer. 'Now, can you mages please light a bigger fire? I'm freezing my arse off out there.'

After a moment Margaret acquiesced, just as Merril asked innocently, 'Then why don't you wear more clothes, Isabela?'

A chuckle was the only answer she got.

'I didn't know you smoked a pipe, Varric.'

Anders had been silent and sullen all morning, something which Margaret had vainly been trying to ignore by listening in on the conversation around her.

'Only when I'm thinking about something important, Daisy,' said Varric, letting out a little puff of smoke that floated gently back over the heads of the party.

'Oh really? What are you thinking about? Is it okay for me to ask that?' asked Merril, pacing beside him.

'Sure, Daisy. Just be careful who you ask it to,' he replied. 'I was thinking about how to write all this down. The grand rebellion of the mages- it'll make a hell of a story in the end.'

'However it turns out,' muttered Fenris darkly, though no one except Margaret seemed to notice.

'Oh. Will you write about me, or Aveline?'

'I'll write about everyone. I'll even give you a special chapter if you want.'

'I wouldn't want to steal the attention,' said Merril, shaking her head. 'What do you think will happen when we reach Hercinia? Do you think the Chancellor will help us?'

Isabela piped up. 'Who knows, kitten? That's half the fun.'

Margaret's attention drifted as she heard a soft mutter beside her, and she turned slightly- in time to see Anders apparently whispering to himself. He spotted her, however, and flashed Margaret a tired smile. 'How are you feeling today?' he asked after a moment.

'Fine,' replied Margaret in a low voice. 'How are you?'

'Fine,' he said stiffly.

Margaret sighed. 'Anders, please. Why don't you trust me?'

She was talking about the bomb he planted in the Chantry, and they both knew it. Anders' jaw clenched before he whispered, so quietly it was barely audible, 'Later. We can talk when we make camp.'

They made good progress that day, passing Kirkwall in the late afternoon via a series of tunnels Anders had travelled as a refugee. The stone corridors seemed to oppress the group, suppressing everyone to silence as they walked. Their way was lit by Merril who carried a small, white ball of light in her hands. Fenris seemed the most bothered of them all, shifting irritably and fidgeting whenever they stopped. Isabela appeared perfectly at ease, though from time to time Margaret spotted her hands flicking towards her daggers and then flicking away- the movement reminded her of a snake darting out its tongue to test the air.

At last Anders announced they were nearing the surface. 'We should get out of here before dusk. I don't like the idea of being cornered with Kirkwall behind us.'

The silence seemed to deepen at this, and Anders hurried everyone out, pushing them onward until they found a camping site that met his standards. When they were settled Aveline asked him, rather suspiciously, how he knew about the tunnels in the first place.

'The Wardens value discretion,' was all he said, before catching Margaret's eye and nodding towards the darkness out beyond the others. As they moved away they caught the sound of Isabela wolf-whistling after them.

'Justice is angry with me for lying to you,' said Anders abruptly, the moment they were alone. 'He thinks I'm throwing our cause into danger by keeping things from you.'

Margaret, seeing his grim expression, felt a trickle of panic start to make its way through her chest. 'What do you mean?' she asked, fearing the answer.

'You've known from the beginning that I'm a Warden,' he said shortly, 'but I don't think you know what being a Warden entails. It's not just fighting darkspawn. If only it were half so romantic.'

Margaret moved closer to him, but Anders only stepped away. 'No. There's some things you need to understand.' He ran a hand through his hair, pulling strands free from its tie. They hung around his face like cobwebs in the dark. 'There's only one way to become a Warden, Margaret. You have to drink darkspawn blood.' He paused, but when she opened her mouth to speak he silenced her with a finger. 'Please. I'll explain everything, but just let me finish.

We take the taint into ourselves- the essence of what makes the darkspawn what they are- and it's always fatal. Most people die during the Joining, but eventually it claims us all. It was also meant to remove the chance of Wardens ever having children. It doesn't always work but I never expected this…'

Margaret was staring at him, her eyes wide with horror. 'What are you saying?' she gasped. 'Are you tainted?'

'I am,' Anders replied. 'It's not contagious, so don't worry about that.'

'That's not what I'm worried about, you fool!' She wanted to hit him. 'How could you keep this from me? How could you? And what do you mean "it claims us all"? What exactly are you saying?'

Anders let out a long, shuddering breath- and Margaret suddenly realised he was nearly crying. 'It means,' he said sadly, 'that I only have so long to live. The taint is working constantly in my body, and in about thirty years I won't be able to resist it any more. My Joining was nearly ten years ago, so I have even less time than that.'

Margaret felt a wave of cold wash over her and settle in her stomach. She raised a hand to her mouth. 'And our child?'

Anders shook his head. 'I have no idea,' he said, his voice breaking. 'I have no idea, Margaret.'

She stepped backwards. 'I've known you for a decade. You have been living in my _house_. How could you keep this from me?' Hot tears spilled from her eyes and onto her cheeks. 'Anders…'

'Maker, I'm sorry.' He rushed forward and reached for her shoulders, pulling her to him and burying his face in her hair. 'I wanted to tell you. I knew I should have, but I just… I just couldn't do it. Every time I tried the words just weren't there.' His voice was muffled against Margaret's neck, his breath blowing past her ears. 'I don't think I expected to live long enough for it ever to become an issue. And then you told me you were pregnant. At first I had never been happier, and then I was afraid- afraid of what I might have done to you, to our son.'

Images of Ser Wesley and his terrible final moments were flashing through Margaret's mind, blotting out Anders' words, but his last sentence struck her a moment after it was uttered. The dying templar's pale, sickened face still echoing in her eyes, Margaret pulled away from Anders and looked up at him. 'Our son?' she whispered.

Anders lowered his hands and bowed his head, his eyes closed. He was unable to look at her, she realised dimly. 'Our son,' he repeated. 'I cannot be sure he won't be tainted. Or if he'll even be human. No one has met a Warden who had children after they were Joined.' He suddenly raised his eyes and looked at her. 'I may have even infected you.'

'Go back to the others,' Margaret murmured suddenly. Anders, frowning, started to step towards her once more, but she pushed him away. 'Go back to the others,' she insisted. 'I need… I need you to go. Go back. Now.'

He stared at her, his face reflecting the panic she felt. Whether it was because of this or something else, he left, leaving Margaret alone in the dark, in the shadows of the trees.

Once Anders was gone his words broke over Margaret in terrible, violent waves. Unthinking, she slammed her fist into the nearest tree trunk once, then again and again and again, until her hand was hot with blood. Slumping to the forest floor she stamped her feet furiously against the ground. She had known life with Anders was going to be difficult, but after their victory in Kirkwall she thought things would change for the better. That they could succeed, free the mages and live the rest of their lives out far away, maybe in Ferelden, with their children. Ever since she had learned she was pregnant Margaret had harboured a hundred different fantasies surrounding their futures- and now all of it had been blown away in the course of a single conversation. For the first time in years she wept, truly wept, her body wracked with huge, staggering sobs that she muffled against her robes. After what felt like hours she stopped, exhausted and shaking. It was only then that she noticed the figure watching her from the shadows.

Varric approached Margaret silently and pressed a handkerchief into her hands. 'Anders told us,' he said without ado. 'I'm so sorry, Margaret.'

The rare use of her first name brought a trembling, unstable smile to her lips and she pressed her head against the dwarf's shoulder. 'What am I supposed to do, Varric?'

'It's not my place to say.' He leaned over slightly and kissed her hair. 'But if you love Anders, I wouldn't throw away the time you have left.'

'And my son?'

'No-one knows what the future holds,' he replied. 'Don't assume the worst until you've seen it for yourself, Hawke. But know that whatever happens, I'm always here and I always will be, just like I have been from the beginning. If you want me to, I can always sick Bianca onto Blondie and let her teach him a lesson or two.'

Margaret wanted to at least pretend to laugh but she afraid the movement would make her start crying again. It seemed strange that two such different things could be so dreadfully similar. 'Thank you, Varric,' she said softly. 'I suppose it's time to get back to camp now.'

'I wish it wasn't, but I'm afraid so. We still have a Chantry to overthrow- the revolution won't wait for us.'

Margaret pushed herself to her feet and took a long, steadying breath. When she and Varric reached the camp the others were all still awake, but Margaret ignored them and went to her bedroll without a word, almost flinching as she passed by Anders.

She did not sleep that night.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day they packed up and left earlier than usual. Anders had slept far away from everyone else and moved around with a decidedly stoic expression, betrayed only by his quick glances at Margaret whenever the opportunity arose. She pretended not to notice.

As they moved off Isabela muttered something under her breath and pulled out a wine sack, taking a long draught for herself before passing it to Varric.

They were now in an area comprised mostly of fertile grasslands and sporadic forest that stretched onwards to Hercinia itself. The day was refreshingly warm and golden fingers of sunlight splashed across the verdant earth. Merril looked around at it all approvingly, humming softly under her breath, lulling the party from a state of quiet unease to one of almost peace as they drifted along. They all grew so relaxed, in fact, that they never noticed the bandits shadowing them until one misjudged arrow landed with a sudden _thwack _against the ground, only inches from Margaret's feet. She sprung around at once, immediately feeling magic welling up inside her, but Fenris was already moving, sword in hand as he streaked dangerously across the grass to where a small group of men in bedraggled leather waited.

There had been a time when Margaret had pitied the bandits and other law-breakers that lingered in the wild lands of the Free Marches and Ferelden, but no longer. Without a second thought she raised her staff, sending out a vicious bolt of energy that slammed one man in the chest, knocking him to the ground. He struggled to rise, but Fenris was too fast- before he even realised it, a glittering sword descended through the air, catching him in the abdomen. The man let out a yowl of pain as his fellows- five in all- began to close in around the elf. Two more suddenly fell to the ground- one with a dagger protruding from his back, the other, a crossbow bolt. The three that remained dropped their weapons and stepped away. 'Please!' one of them gasped, realizing they were utterly outmatched.

Margaret approached them, magic still crackling at the end of her staff, drowning out the sound of birdsong leaking from the surrounding trees. She reached out and tipped his back the helmet of the one that spoke, revealing the weary, bloated face of a man lined with wrinkles and pale stubble. 'Why should I spare you?' she asked quietly, looking down at him. 'So you can go and kill others who are more defenceless than we?'

'I swear,' the man whispered fervently, his eyes flickering from side to side and his forehead beading with sweat. 'I swear I won't do it again. I promise. I'll… I'll become a farmer.'

Varric scoffed somewhere in the background. 'And I suppose the Andraste will come flying naked through Lowtown when you do, throwing out sacks of gold as she goes.'

Margaret stared into the man's panicked face a moment longer, before pulling a dagger from her belt and pulling it across his throat with a shiver of disgust. The other two bandits leapt back and began to run, but Isabela appeared from nowhere, striking them both down with two precise blows to the spine. She smiled up at Margaret as they dropped to the ground. 'Nothing like a bit of banditry to keep you going, is there? Personally, I prefer pirates. At least they know how to fight better than these louts- it's almost too easy.'

Margaret lowered her staff and said, 'Is it strange that this makes me feel kind of normal?'

Varric chuckled and swung Bianca over his back. 'Hawke, look at us- I don't think being "normal" was ever on offer.'

That night after they made camp Margaret lay on her bedroll a long while, her hands folded delicately over her stomach. There had been no outward changes to her physique yet, but through her magic she could feel a new pulsating form of life hidden beneath her skin. Never having been pregnant before, she could not tell if it all was as it should be- if the steady stream of energy reaching through her was normal. Merril wandered past her, keeping watch with Fenris. The sight of the black-haired elf triggered something within Margaret.

'Merril,' she whispered, sitting up.

Merril turned around and came over. 'Hello, Hawke.'

'Would you do something for me?'

'Of course I will. Well, I mean, that depends what it is. Not that I don't want to help with whatever it is you want.' Merril stopped herself and let out a small squeak of laughter. 'Sorry.'

Margaret's heart began to race as she spoke. 'Could you tell me if my baby is tainted?'

'Oh.' A worried look passed over Merril's face. 'I've never had to do that before. I don't know if I can, Hawke. I've… felt the Blight before, when it touched our clan-but I don't know if I can find it in a baby. Maybe you should talk to Anders.'

Margaret looked over her shoulder. Anders was lying on the other side of the camp, distant from everyone else. He was entirely motionless except for the restless, silent drumming of his fingers upon the ground. The sight sent a jolt through Margaret- whether it was of pain or pity, she could not tell, and she quickly looked away. 'Please, Merril.' She reached out for her friend's hand. 'I need to know.'

Merril bit her lip and knelt down beside Margaret. 'Alright,' she whispered. 'Lie down. But I'm not promising anything.'

Margaret immediately fell onto her back and took several deep breaths, willing herself to relax. Merril's cold hands suddenly pressed themselves against her abdomen and the faint hum that comes only with magic shivered in the air. Energy flowed out from the elf- a strange, sweeping sensation that seemed to hover delicately over Margaret's stomach. For some minutes she lay still, waiting- but Merril did not speak.

'What is it?' she asked at last, dreading the answer.

Merril shook her head, perplexed. 'I don't know. I've never… I've never felt anything like this before, Hawke. There's something…' She trailed off and pulled her hands away. 'I don't know what this means.'

Cold fear made its way up Margaret's spine. 'Is it the Blight?'

'I don't know,' Merril repeated. 'I think you need to find someone who knows more about this.' She smiled weakly and placed her hand on Margaret's arm. 'I'm sure there'll be someone who can help you in Hercinia. Plenty of mages will be there- one of them has to know.'

'What did you find, Merril?' Margaret sat up and looked the elf in the eye. 'Please tell me.'

'I already have,' Merril replied sadly. 'I'm sorry, Hawke. I just don't know. I truly don't.' After a moment she stood up and whispered, 'You should probably get some sleep. We have a long way to go tomorrow.'

The next three days passed relatively calmly. Several times Anders had approached Margaret, the same wounded look in his eyes, and each time she had found some way to busy herself, hurriedly turning away from him before he had the chance to speak. He still avoided the others, and when they made camp would sometimes wander away for hours at a time. One night Isabela left to find him and came back looking shaken and worried. She made her way straight to Margaret, who was rummaging through her rucksack, the depths of it illuminated by the small ball of flame sheltered by her hand. It was a full moon and the stars were shining listlessly in the sky, devoid of their usual cheery sparkle.

'Hawke.' Isabela knelt beside her. 'I think there's something really wrong with Anders.'

Margaret stiffened, but did not turn. 'What do you mean?' she asked cautiously, moving aside her journal in favour of her only other pair of socks.

Isabela coughed awkwardly and lowered her voice. 'I think he's gone crazy. Like, really crazy. As in lost his mind crazy.' She paused before continuing. 'Love and feelings and all those things aren't really my strong point- but I think you've punished him enough.'

Margaret looked at her, socks in hand. 'Punished him?' she asked, frowning. 'I never meant to punish him, I just-'

Isabela held up a hand, stopping Margaret mid-sentence. 'He wasn't exactly normal before, you know. I don't think he can tell the difference between punishment and… whatever it is you're doing. This is the last time you'll ever hear me hand out advice; but you need to speak to him now. I'm sort of worried he might kill us all in our sleep or something.'

'What exactly did you see, Isabela?'

The pirate squinted and bit her lip. 'He was walking around in a clearing,' she said uneasily, 'muttering to himself. It was like I was only hearing one half of the conversation. Like there was _someone else _there, but I couldn't see anything. I think he was talking to Justice, because he just turned around and his eyes were all blue and scary, and then he… threw some fire at a tree.'

'Justice came out? Without any sort of trigger?' Margaret felt her jaw drop in shock and she jumped to her feet. 'Don't tell anyone where I've gone. If I'm not back in half an hour, come and find me.'

Isabela nodded. 'The clearing was to the west. Only a few minutes from camp- you won't miss it.'

Margaret picked up her staff. They were passing through a forest now, having left much of the agrarian plains behind them as they moved further inland. She entered the trees with no small trepidation, keeping them at bay with her staff as she half-walked, half-ran to the clearing that Isabela had described.

Margaret found it soon enough. The first thing she saw was Anders sitting on the ground, his knees drawn up to his chest and his face buried between them, hidden by his arm. He was breathing heavily- at first Margaret thought he was sobbing- but no sounds emerged. She could sense the magic surrounding him, potent even from where she stood, hidden in the brush, and felt a flicker of alarm. She watched him for some time, but he did not move from his position. The only thing that indicated he was even alive at all and not some kind of morose statue was his deep, even breaths.

At last, she stepped forward.

'Anders?' Her voice drifted across the clearing, splintering the silence.

Anders jolted and looked up at her, his eyes wide with panic. 'What are you doing here? No! Don't come any closer.' He stood up and began to back away, like a startled animal. 'I've hurt you enough already. Please, stay away!'

Margaret stared at him boldly and slowly lowered her staff to the ground. 'You won't harm me,' she said with quiet confidence.

'I already have,' Anders said helplessly, still moving away from her. 'I can't do it again, Margaret. Don't make me.' He whispered this last part, staring at her imploringly across the space that separated them.

But Margaret ignored him and kept moving steadily forward. All her pity and hesitation seemed to have, for the moment, vanished- she was no longer angry, just overcome with a huge tide of worry at the sight of terror she seemed to inspire in the man she loved. 'What's going on, Anders?' she asked, her throat constricting. 'Isabela said she saw you- she said she saw Justice.'

A shudder suddenly ripped through Anders and he grasped his head as though in great pain, nearly doubling over. Margaret ran forward and caught him just as he staggered, his weight pulling them both to the ground. In the moonlight she could see veins throbbing on his neck, and the red flush of his skin. 'I'm trying,' he gasped hoarsely. 'But I can't control him. I thought we were one, but he-he's still there. _Vengeance_.'

For a moment a blinding blue glow emanated from his body and sparks ran through the air. Margaret flinched, blinded at the sudden display of light, but it was gone as it quickly as it had appeared. Anders moaned and swayed back and forth- Margaret could hear him chanting under his breath, 'no, no, no, no, no, no, no!'

'Anders!' Without a second thought she reached for him and pulled his hands away. 'Look at me, Anders! Look at me right now!'

He raised his eyes slowly to hers, burning and half-mad. He mouthed her name.

She held his face gently, running her thumbs across his cheeks. 'Anders.' She said his name again, loudly and clearly, before slowly leaning in and pressing her lips to his forehead.

They stayed that way for a few minutes longer until Anders fell still and eventually pulled away, looking wan and exhausted. 'I didn't think something like this could happen,' he murmured, turning his palms over in his lap and staring down at them as though they might hold answers. His voice was raspy, but steady. He sounded as though he had just been strangled. 'After what happened- the explosion… It's like he's been trying to take control of me.'

Margaret saw his haggard, beaten expression and felt a rush of anger. 'We won't let him,' she promised fiercely.

'How can you say that after what I've done to you?'

She smiled thinly. 'Because I love you, no matter what.'


	5. Chapter 5

'Wonderful.' Neria threw the letter down on the table. 'This is just what we need.'

'You can't say you didn't see it coming,' said Alistair, lounging on the bed. He was still just as powerful as he had been a decade ago- Bann Teagan had learned that to his embarrassment in the training ring- but now two premature streaks of grey stretched out from each of his temples, mixing pleasantly with the gold of his hair. It was a change that Neria found immeasurably attractive.

'Do you really think it was Cullen who sent this? It doesn't sound like him,' she said, unable to repress the distaste that rose within her at the mention of his name.

Alistair gave her a hard look. 'You judge him too harshly. He'd gone through a nightmare, Neria.'

The Warden-Commander nodded and leant back against her seat. 'I know. But he just made me so angry.'

'Lucky I was there then.' Alistair smiled lasciviously at her and sprung up from the sheets. He was wearing a soft white tunic and dark green breeches- simple clothing, but they were still probably the most expensive items in Denerim. He came up behind her and began to run his fingers slowly along the sides of her neck.

Neria's eyes fluttered closed and she smiled. 'I do remember how you cheered me up afterwards.'

'I was just a boy then.'

'A boy with a remarkable aptitude for certain…skills.'

He chuckled and suddenly pulled the chair around, turning Neria to face him. As he leaned down she placed a hand on his lips. 'We can't right now,' she said, with a playful sigh of regret. 'We have to decide what to do about this.'

'I'm tempted just to do as he says, but…'

'But what?'

Alistair ran a hand through his hair and frustration and went back to the bed, propping himself up against the pillows. 'The Grand Cleric is pressuring me to install Templars in the Grey Wardens again. The other day I was told she recited a sermon on the dangers of apostates in the Grand Cathedral itself- most of which was directed towards you.'

Neria stood up and poured herself a glass of wine. 'The daft old bitch,' she said vehemently. 'Talking like that after what just happened is bound to stir up trouble.'

'Funnily enough, I think that's just what she wants.' Alistair held out one knobbly, long-fingered hand to her and after a moment Neria took it, crawling up beside him. 'It may seem hypocritical of me to say it, but the Wardens are supposed to be apolitical.'

'It's extremely hypocritical of you to say it.' Neria looked up at him and began to trace her fingers along his jaw before dropping them back into her lap. 'Ignoring that is what saved this country,' she pointed out. 'But this isn't just about Ferelden. A war with the mages would take away our best recruits. Mages are invaluable to the Wardens- without them we would have died out centuries ago.'

'I know.' Alistair huffed, his breath tickling Neria's hair. 'But I have to do what's best for Ferelden. The Grand Cleric wants a meeting with me the day after tomorrow. I think it's important that you be there.'

Neria nodded. 'I think you're right. I'll have to send word to Nathaniel though.'

'Already done,' said Alistair smiling. 'I sent out a rider this afternoon.'

Neria laughed. 'Sometimes I forget how good you are at this 'king' business.'

Alistair turned around suddenly, pinning her under him. 'It's because I'm very, very good at distracting you,' he murmured, his hand trailing down between her breasts. His stubble tickled her skin as he kissed her neck, his teeth raking just slightly against her skin in a way that never failed to make her gasp.

Neria ran her hands across the taught muscles of his abdomen, releasing a small tickle of lightning that made his growl, the sound shuddering through her. 'Yes,' she said breathlessly as his tongue brushed the tip of her ear, 'yes you are.'

The Grand Cleric scowled when she saw Neria, and the Templar beside her tensed.

'Keep your dog on a leash,' she saw harshly, sitting herself down. Beside her Alistair took a deep breath, but otherwise made no movement- still, Neria could almost hear his thoughts: _What a shit start to negotiations_.

'Grand Cleric Constance.' He stood up and bowed, flashing her a winning smile that still made Neria's heart skip a beat. 'A pleasure.'

Constance nodded her head in return. 'King Alistair.' Her eyes narrowed as they rested on Neria. 'I see you've brought along an additional guest to our party.'

'Yes.' Alistair sat down and crossed his legs, fixing the Cleric with his direct gaze. 'As this pertains to the Wardens, I thought it only pertinent that they be involved. Forgive me for not informing you beforehand— I had no time.'

'Of course. It was silly of me to expect you to enter into this without your…advisor.'

Alistair stiffened. 'That is neither here nor there.'

'The Chantry frowns upon such things, sire. Especially with a mage- and an elf.'

Despite the Cleric's stinging tone neither Alistair nor Neria rose to her bait. They had both been in this situation too many times not to know better. 'Perhaps we should address the matter at hand.' Alistair stood and went over to a small table resting beneath a window that looked out over the city. The room they were in was luxurious- gold and damask tapestries rested against the alabaster walls, and a long, white rug enscribed with emerald vines rested on the stone floor. Alistair turned back to everyone with a silver goblet in hand and took a careful sip, his eyes on the Grand Cleric.

'My demand remains the same,' Constance said smugly. 'It is contrary to the will of the Maker for mages to run free, throwing lives in danger with their very presence. Templars must supervise the Grey Wardens to keep our people, _your _people safe, Your Majesty.'

Alistair's eyebrows quirked and a faint smile touched the edges of his lips. 'I have seen no evidence of mages running amok, Grand Cleric. I seem to remember the Chantry had none of these concerns you mention when it was the Wardens saving the country from the Blight and the darkspawn incursions that followed it.'

Constance smoothed her robe- an elaborate piece of crimson drapery endowed with the golden image of the Maker's Sun on her chest. 'Perhaps you have seen no such evidence in Ferelden, sire,' she replied evenly, 'but the events in Kirkwall cannot be ignored.'

Neria bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from speaking, but the Grand Cleric seemed to know she had something to say anyway. 'And what is your take on this, Commander?'

'I'm sure you already have an idea,' Neria replied shortly. 'The Grey Wardens operate independently. We always have. I won't do anything that jeopardises the fundamental tenant of our order.'

Constance leaned forward in her seat, a nasty smile settling on her lips. 'And was it not your order who harboured the maleficar that murdered Grand Cleric Elthina, as well as so many others?' She shook her head in mock reproach. 'The Chantry cannot ignore such action.'

Neria flushed, and when she spoke her voice was clipped. 'Anders is no maleficar. Tells lies to the public if you want, but have the courtesy to speak the truth to people who know better.'

'Neria,' said Alistair warningly. 'I'm sorry Grand Cleric- the Commander is tired.' The smile had left his face now. 'You have no evidence that this Anders is maleficar, and no investigation has been launched into the events surrounding Elthina's death. The crown cannot take action based upon evidence that has not been verified.'

Constance scowled. 'A Grand Cleric was murdered!' she hissed, 'by a _mage_! The Chantry shall not let this matter pass, Your Majesty. We will have justice.'

'And will you defy your king?' Alistair asked suddenly, his voice dangerously low.

The Cleric straightened and stood up, trying to look down at Alistair- a failed attempt. 'I am answerable only to the Maker,' she said with impressive dignity. 'You are only a man.'

Alistair smiled, but there was no humour in it. 'Then you can have one warning, Grand Cleric. I will abide by the ancient orders of conduct prescribed to the Grey Wardens. That is my act as king. If you do otherwise it will be an act of treason.'

Constance drew herself up to her full height, her grey eyes wide with rage. 'You _dare _threaten a Grand Cleric?'

'I am only presenting the facts,' Alistair replied evenly, his voice hard. 'It is your choice to do what you will with them.'

'But you are one of our own! You are part of the flock.'

Alistair's face closed down completely at this. 'I am my own man,' was all he said.


	6. Chapter 6

Fenris came back to the group, padding almost silently on the ground despite his heavy, clawed armour. 'Mages up ahead,' he told Margaret shortly, his eyes dim with unease.

'How many?'

'Only three that I could see,' he replied, his suspicion apparent.

'Okay.' Margaret took a deep breath and looked at the others. 'I want to speak to them. Everyone stay here.'

The mages were sitting on the forest floor, a haggard, tense group. A pot was bubbling in front of them, filling the air with the mouth-watering aroma of cooking meat. None of them were speaking but they were constantly looking around, as though they knew they were being watched.

Margaret, having no other idea how to approach them, simply stepped out into the open.

All the mages froze, staring at her like wild animals- and then one of them, a young man with swarthy features in a tattered purple robe, suddenly called out, 'Champion?'

Margaret took a few hesitant steps closer and when it became apparent that they were not planning just to immolate her on sight, waved a hand towards a nearby log. 'May I?'

The mage who had called out to her nodded, and Margaret suddenly remembered that his name was Alain. The two other mages beside him- both women- looked impossibly young for the heavy weight of caution and doubt apparent in their eyes.

Margaret sat down slowly and said, 'Alain, wasn't it? What are you doing here?'

'We're going to Hercinia,' he replied. 'The Chancellor there is offering succour for the mages.' He looked at his companions and said, 'this is Margaret Hawke- the Champion. She saved my life.' Alain smiled gratefully at her and continued, 'this is Antonia, and this is my sister, Lelaine.'

Antonia looked to be the older of the two- she had pale, curly hair that was pulled back into a haphazard bun and a long pink mouth that seemed perpetually turned down at the corners. Lelaine looked much like her brother, the same dark skin and hair. 'You're really the Champion?' she asked, looking at Margaret with a hint of distrust.

'I am,' Margaret confirmed, smiling at her. 'My companions and I are headed in the same direction. If the rumours are true it would appear that's where we'll find the resistance.'

The girl Antonia stiffened. 'Your companions?'

'Yes. There are five of us, not including myself.'

Antonia seemed to grow even more wary at this.

Alain noticed immediately and said, 'You needn't worry- she's on our side. She saved me from the Templars- more than once,' he added after a moment, with a shy smile.

But apparently this did nothing to appease to Antonia. 'I was in the cells for years,' she said hoarsely, 'and then there was an explosion. The walls of my cell cracked and the wards broke, and I escaped- killing Templars all the while. What do I care about any _Champion_?' She spat the appellation out like a curse.

'She can help us,' implored Lelaine softly.

'I assure you,' began Margaret, 'I want the same thing as you do-'

'The same thing as I do?' Antonia stood up suddenly, her eyes blazing. 'What do you know about what I want, _Champion_? Do you know how many others were still in those cells when you started your little revolt? I didn't see anybody rushing to help them.' Sparks began to dance angrily on the ends of her fingers. 'The only thing I want is freedom for myself. The Templars can take you all as far as I care.'

With that she turned and stormed away into the trees. In the silence that followed Alain smiled weakly and said, 'she'll come back eventually. She always does.'

'She wasn't always like this,' Lelaine added. 'She tried to escape, several times in fact, to go home to her mother- but the Templars always found her, and eventually they just threw her into the cells.'

Margaret frowned. 'Why didn't they make her Tranquil?'

Lelaine shrugged, her thin shoulders painfully apparent under her robe. 'I don't know. Meredith wasn't such a monster back then- she actually abided by the law, I mean. Maybe they were going to let her out. I used to take her food sometimes- it was only every few weeks, but each time she seemed angrier. Different.'

Margaret looked away into the direction where Antonia had vanished and felt a shiver of distrust. An unstable mage was just what they did not need- but, she realised, given events probably was not going to be uncommon. Turning back to Alain and Lelaine she asked, 'can my friends and I join you? We can travel together- protect each other until we reach Hercinia.'

Alaine grinned and nodded. 'Of course! Safety in numbers, right?'

Margaret went back to the camp to tell the others what had transpired and soon everyone was sitting around a crackling campfire listening to Alain and his sister share their tales of the last week. They had originally belonged to a group of eight, but one had died of her wounds just after they escaped Kirkwall, and the others had fled.

'Have you seen any others?' asked Margaret, chewing on an old, soggy apple.

Alain shook his head. 'Only from a distance.' After a moment he looked around at them all- Margaret could only imagine what she and her friends looked like to him- and asked, 'what do you intend to do? When you get to Hercinia, I mean.'

'Whatever we can,' replied Anders suddenly- the first words he had spoken all day. 'We will do whatever it takes to win freedom for mages here, and everywhere else.'

Lelaine nodded, staring at him with gleaming eyes. 'I'm glad,' she said with a voice like steel. 'The Templars are monsters.'

Alain stared at his sister. 'They aren't all so bad, Lel. Ser Thrask -'

'Is dead,' she finished for him. 'A few good Templars won't excuse them.'

'Truer words were never spoken,' said Anders, smiling at the girl.

Fenris snorted with disgust. 'I suppose you think that makes it acceptable to kill them all,' he spat, glaring at Anders across the fire. 'Sometimes I wonder who the real monsters are.'

Anders' eyes narrowed. 'How can you say that? You were there when Meredith invoked the Right of Annulment- you know they won't hesitate to do the same to us. It's kill or be killed, Fenris.'

'It seems all too easy for you to ignore the dangers posed by blood mages. Or do you think that free mages are capable of policing themselves? Like it or not, the Chantry performs a necessary service.'

'A service that was corrupt and murderous!' Anders shouted.

Margaret stood up. 'That's enough!'

Both men were staring daggers at each other, but they acquiesced and fell silent. After a moment Isabela sighed and slapped her knee loudly, the sound ringing out across the camp. 'Who's in for a game of diamondback?'

'Yes,' Varric answered immediately, pulling his make-shift stool over to her.

Merril followed him and so did Alain, rising from his seat and sitting down near Varric. 'Do you mind?' he asked uncertainly. 'No one ever taught us to play in the Circle.'

'They never taught you to play cards?' asked Varric, his eyebrows rising. 'Damn, you mages sure weren't allowed to have any fun, were you?'

Alain shrugged and smiled slightly, looking abashed. 'Not really.'

'I'm happy we aren't playing for money,' said Merril, looking around good-naturedly at Alain. 'I'd hate to see you lose to Isabela. Everyone loses to Isabela.'

'It's because I cheat,' replied the pirate, grinning shamelessly at Alain and leaning down. 'Ready?'

While the others played, Margaret stood up and looked at Fenris. 'Can we talk?' she asked curtly.

Fenris nodded. 'If you wish.'

They both walked away, leaving the campsite a few yards behind them. Once she was sure they were alone, Margaret spun on him and jabbed a finger into his chest. 'What was that?' she hissed. 'Things are terrible enough as it is, Fenris! I do not need you to go around stirring up trouble before we've even gotten anywhere!'

Fenris glowered. 'It is not my job to coddle foolish mages who act before they think.'

'And yet you sided with us. You could have left us all to die at the Templar's hands- but you didn't.'

He only stared at her, apparently at a loss for what to say. 'I know,' he said, suddenly looking very tired. 'It is…difficult for me, Hawke. It seems as if all these mages are children, leaving people like you are left to clean up the mess. They talk about freedom,' he grimaced, 'but what would their freedom unleash?'

Margaret bit her lip. 'You're afraid of another Imperium.'

Fenris chuckled bitterly. 'How could I not be? It seems to take very little to push a mage to blood magic. I wonder,' he said, looking at her piercingly, 'do you know what was involved for Anders to merge with his…spirit?'

Margaret suddenly felt as though she were the one on the defensive. 'I never asked him-but,' she continued, 'Anders would never use blood magic.'

Fenris took a step forward and made a cutting gesture with his arm. 'You have seen the lengths he'll go to- that demon has influence over him. Who's to say it didn't always?'

Margaret tried to defend Anders to him, but she was pierced by doubt. 'Anders would never do it,' was all she could say.

Fenris looked at her, with something dangerously akin to pity in his eyes. 'We shall see,' he said softly. 'Don't close your eyes, Hawke.'

When she arrived back at camp Margaret saw that the girl Antonia had returned and was now sitting quietly beside Anders, listening gloomily as he spoke to her. He looked up and saw Margaret, nodding at her and placing a hand on Antonia's shoulder before stepping away.

'What did you say to Fenris?' he asked, unable to quite hide the tenor of suspicion in his voice.

'The same thing I'm about to say to you,' Margaret replied. 'Please do not aggravate each other right now- that's just one more thing that I don't need.'

Anders eyes widened. 'You think I should just sit quietly by while he talks about throwing us back to the Templars?'

'He stood with us, Anders,' she reminded him sternly. 'You know that isn't what he means. And anyway, it doesn't matter. Will you please just leave each other be?'

Anders clenched his jaw and nodded, looking unhappy. For a moment they looked at each other, the same gulf that had existed between them for days opening again. He reached out for her hand hesitantly, wrapping his fingers around hers. Margaret sighed and closed her eyes at the familiar sensation of his palm. 'I wish we had met under better circumstances,' she admitted, breaking the silence.

Anders mouth quirked but it was more with sadness than humour. 'I was a rake before joining the Wardens. But even then I would have been able to treat you better than I have.'

Margaret pulled his hand up to her mouth and ran her lips across his knuckles. 'We don't know what the future holds,' she said, unconsciously echoing Varric. 'I won't give up hope until there's no other alternative. Never. Our child will live, and so will this rebellion.'

A little more light came into Anders' face at her words, but the look of worry seemed to be forever seared in his eyes. 'I promise,' he said fiercely, 'never to fail you again. I'll do whatever it takes to get us through this.'

Margaret remembered Fenris' words and could only smile in response, hiding her doubt by leaning forward and pressing her face to Anders' shoulder. 'I know you will,' she said, suddenly overtaken by dread. 'I know you will.'


	7. Chapter 7

Carver jolted awake, desperately trying to draw air- and found to his horror that he was unable to do so. Suddenly a face loomed over him- Erik- his toothy smile belligerent in the flickering candlelight. 'Hello, chum,' he said happily, and pulled the rag from Carver's mouth with a flourish. Carver gasped- blessed air was filling his lungs again!

Erik was one of the most dangerous men Carver had ever met- his charming mien and handsome, boyish features undermined a vicious being, the kind who raped mage girls and laughed about it afterwards. He was the son of one of Kirkwall's noble houses and had been sent away from the family to join the Templars after some sinister misadventure which had never been disclosed. Carver had hated him the moment they set eyes on each other.

'Cat got your tongue?' Erik asked cheerfully, his blue eyes lighting up. 'I said hello to you, friend.'

Carver remained obstinately silent, but if anything this just seemed to please Erik even more. 'Everyone else is gone,' he remarked casually, gesturing at the empty bunk room around them. 'Except for us, of course.'

Carver was relieved to see that they were alone- he would never be able to call Erik a coward. 'What do you want?' he asked stiffly, flipping his legs over the edge of his bed and standing up.

'So snappy,' said Erik. 'Just like your sister.'

The smile abruptly slipped from his face and his fist darted out almost too quickly to be seen, smashing into Carver's stomach before he had time to react. Pain exploded inside him and he doubled over, gasping. Erik placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'I met her once you know- big sis. She was _pretty_. Is that why you never turned her in? Did she make you think naughty thoughts? Were you afraid of her?'

'Shut your mouth,' Carver rasped, still unable to rise. 'Or I'll…sh-shut it for you.'

Erik laughed and slapped him across the face- lightly, the way one would slap a misbehaving child. He leaned down until they were at eye level. 'I don't think so, big boy.'

Without warning, Carver roared and grabbed Erik's face between his hands, throwing him backwards and to the floor with all his strength. 'I told you to SHUT your mouth!' he yelled, struggling to stand upright. His vision was dotted with pale spots of light and he felt faint, but for the first time he drew in a grateful lungful of air.

Erik only laughed and sprang to his feet. 'It's a wonder the Knight-Commander let you stay,' he observed, as though they were having nothing more than a friendly conversation. 'But he's a bit soft for her too, isn't he? Or maybe soft isn't the right word for it- what do you think?'

'I think you're nothing more than a slavering animal, Erik. One day I'll put you down myself.'

'Ha! Those are big words- it must be good to be the Knight-Commander's favourite. To be one of the ones who betrayed the Order.' His expression darkened again and a small dagger appeared in his hand. Carver dimly realised that it must have been hidden up his sleeve. 'Isn't it funny that the people who turned on Meredith are the ones in charge? Looks like the mages weren't the only ones to have a revolution.'

Carver shook his head. 'Meredith was insane, Erik. Even you have to see that.'

Erik quirked an eyebrow. 'Do I? You know, I rather liked her. She was _feisty_.' He laughed then, and took a threatening step forward. 'She didn't let mages and their sympathisers walk all over us.'

Erik twirled the dagger idly in his hand, the blade catching in the moonlight; the sinister gleam of it eerily similar to its master's smile. 'Sleep well, friend,' said Erik, and then he was gone.

The next day found Carver restless and irritated, barely able to focus as they went through morning prayers. If there was one thing he hated above all else about being a Templar, it was the endless praying. He sighed and fidgeted, repeatedly catching sight of Erik only a few rows over, his hands clasped in front of him and his eyes directed with surprising piety towards the ceiling.

Ser Keran seemed to pick up on his agitation and caught Carver's eye, motioning for him to be still. 'We don't need any more attention,' he whispered through gritted teeth.

Carver took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He could understand Keran's fear- Knight-Commander Cullen had accepted him back into the Order after Meredith's death, declaring that his experiences with mages would be invaluable to their effort. He had also granted him a full knighthood- something which had inspired no little jealousy in the other recruits. There were few Templars in as precarious positions as Carver and Keran; though thankfully the zealous hatred belonging to Erik and his friends seemed to be only the minority.

With prayers completed, Carver went to gather his patrol- the streets of Kirkwall were still rife with looters and other criminals, and aside from the city guard, the Templars were the only force doing something about it. When he had gathered his troops- ten in all- they made their way out of the Gallows and to the docks. As they passed through the main gate Carver spotted Erik, slashing at a training dummy- just at the moment when he slit its throat, the other Templar caught Carver's eye, and smiled.

Carver only stared back, determined not to betray any reaction other than cold disdain. When they reached the city Carver immediately split the patrol up into two groups of five, ready to rendezvous with Donnic's guards at the docks.

The docks were slowly but surely being cleared. Much of the smaller debris had been gathered into a pile by the more conscientious locals, and for the most part marauders had been found and soundly punished with lashings that succeeded in dissuading others from similar action. However, many of the buildings were collapsed and in need of repair- that was were Carver came in. He left the second half of the patrol in the care of Ser Anna- a dutiful recruit with cropped brown hair and dark eyes. She saluted him as she moved away, her armour glinting in the sun.

Carver and his men worked in the area until dusk, clearing rubble and propping up houses with makeshift timber frames. It was slow, difficult work- the kind that Carver, much to his surprise, had come to love; it occupied his mind and his hands, and afterwards made him feel as though he had truly done something of merit. Something that helped people- a feeling that had been lacking in the Templars for some time.

He returned to the Gallows just after dark, returning Ser Anna's exhausted smile as she staggered off the boat beside him. 'Long day,' she remarked, cracking her back as they walked along.

Carver nodded. 'Not a bad one though.'

Anna laughed and scratched her head furiously, clearly relishing being free of her helmet. 'There aren't many people I know who think a day of hard labour is fun.'

'It might be better if they didn't make us do it in our armour,' Carver replied, a laugh rising almost involuntarily from his throat.

Anna nodded her consent and smacked her lips. 'Going to the food hall?' she asked, smiling gently as she looked into his eyes.

At that look Carver suddenly remembered his vows and the rules of the order. 'No,' he said softly, 'I have more work to do. I'll see you tomorrow.'

Anna hesitated, obviously disappointed, before walking away. Carver remained where he was, staring after for her some time, remembering his vows of chastity and fidelity to the Maker. 'No,' he told himself quietly. 'Let it go, Carver.'

He found Keran and the both of them went to bathe, wiping themselves down quickly in the icy water.

'I n-never realised just h-how much we relied on-on the mages,' Keran said, his teeth chattering.

Carver did not speak, only nodded in fervent agreement and reached for a blanket, wrapping it around himself.

'We r-really should get some fire-f-fireplaces in here,' Keran continued, rubbing his arms furiously.

'I'll t-tell the Commander,' Carver replied. 'I never thought I'd say this- but thank the Maker for summer.' He hurried over to his armour and underclothes, putting them on more quickly than he had ever imagined possible.

'You don't like summer?' Keran asked after a moment, reaching for his own things.

Carver laughed. 'I grew up in Ferelden, remember? Nobody there likes summer.'

'What was it like?'

Carver paused before answering. 'How do you describe home?' he asked, looking at the floor. 'I never realised it when I was there- I was too busy being bitter about things I couldn't change- but Ferelden is my home, always. I'll go back one day.'

Keran rubbed a towel through his hair, not bothering to brush it. 'What about your sister? Was it her home, too?'

Carver shrugged. 'I thought so, once- but now I'm not so sure. She was always somewhere else when we were children; listening to father talk about the injustice of the Circle, or practicing magic with Bethany- I don't think it was ever about Ferelden for her. It was always the mages.'

'But not for you?' asked Keran, looking puzzled.

'No. I loved my family, but I wasn't like them. I think father knew it. He named me after a Templar, you know.'

'Appropriate.'

Carver chuckled. 'Very.' Bells began to toll outside and he put his helmet on. 'Come on-evening prayers.'

Behind him Keran muttered, 'I'll show you where you can stick your prayers…'

The next day Carver was summoned to the Knight-Commander's office. Cullen looked exhausted- deep purple shadows pooled beneath his eyes, which were dim and hungry, and his coppery hair was greasy and lank around his head. Carver bowed to him and sat down when Cullen waved his hand at a chair.

'Anything of note?' the Knight-Commander asked shortly, sitting painfully upright behind his desk.

Carver's mind moved immediately to Erik and his cronies; something which Cullen noticed immediately. 'What is it?'

Carver hesitated, feeling like a coward, but under the Knight-Commander's gaze the words were drawn unwillingly out of him. 'There is one Templar, ser. His name is Erik-'

'Of course.' Cullen sighed and closed his eyes. 'I suspected as much.'

Carver blinked, feeling confused. 'Ser?'

'Erik is not a subtle man, Ser Carver,' he replied. 'Though he does not act openly against me, I have intercepted several of his…_friends _attempting mischief under my watch. I can no longer allow them to leave the Gallows on patrol in case they do something to mar what little good reputation the Order has left.' Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. 'It's a pity that the city is deprived of so many able men simply because of one bad apple.'

'Then why not do something about it?' Carver asked, afraid he was pushing his luck as the Knight-Commander looked up at him with troubled eyes.

'It is my job to maintain the Order- not to mould it as I see fit. I cannot simply expel a Templar without good and definite reason. The others would turn against me in a second,' Cullen replied rapidly. It was clearly something that had been troubling him. 'Regardless, I have something to ask of you,' he continued, fixing Carver with a steady gaze. 'You have heard the talk about Hercinia, I presume?'

'Yes, Knight-Commander.'

'It would be irresponsible of me to ignore something so potentially significant. The Chantry in Hercinia is minor, without a Knight-Commander. The city itself has been all but silent for days now and my letters have gone unanswered. I need to send someone I can trust, Ser Carver, to bring me back a reliable report.'

Carver's eyes widened at the prospect before him. 'You want to send me?'

Cullen gave one, quick nod. 'Absolutely. You've proven yourself as a man of good judgement and character throughout your time here. There's no one else I would rather have to act in my stead.' Before Carver could speak, Cullen continued, 'pick out who you will to go with you- I have only one requirement.'

'What's that?'

'That you take Ser Erik with you.'


	8. Chapter 8

Margaret veered off to the side and away from the others, her face pale and sweating. Without ado she collapsed against the grass and vomited, heaving and shaking. Anders and Isabela rushed over to her, both holding her up below her shoulders. Isabela gently pulled her hair back from her face, running reassuring fingers across her scalp.

'There you go, Hawke,' she murmured, 'just get everything out.'

Margaret heaved and gagged until she thought she was going to pass out- but finally the storm subsided and she staggered back into Anders' arms. 'I must smell disgusting,' she murmured, a droplet of sweat falling down her cheek.

'No,' he disagreed with a hint of laughter. 'You smell like a field of flowers.'

Varric chuckled and shook his head. 'It's cheap to pick on the pregnant lady, Blondie.'

Alain was looking around at everyone, startled and confused. 'Hawke's pregnant?' he asked incredulously.

'Either that or really hung-over,' Margaret murmured, gently disentangling herself from Anders.

'Ah yes,' said Varric, 'the forbidden child of two apostates in love, fighting for their lives against all the odds... I could turn this into a masterpiece, Hawke.'

Margaret laughed. 'You're certainly welcome to try. But I wouldn't start showing it around anytime soon.'

Two days later the walls of Hercinia rose up in the distance, gleaming white beneath the sun. A flat expanse stretched out before them, dotted by two roads snaking in from the west (Margaret's path) and the north. The roads were dotted with travellers and as they got closer Margaret saw that these were not just merchants, bards or other such wayfarers- they were mages. Dozens upon dozens of mages were pouring into the city. Beside her Varric let out a low whistle.

Anders' face was lit up with an ecstatic grin. 'It's happening! It's really happening!'

Margaret had never quite been able to believe the rumours flying around about Hercinia- she thought at best they might find a small group of fighters and then be forced to flee, maybe back to Ferelden; but now the enormity of what faced them rose up before her, filling her with a strange, swooping sensation that left her lost for words. Dumbly, she reached out for Anders' hand.

'Fuck me,' Isabella muttered, leaning back on one leg.

Merril cocked her head and looked at her. 'Why would you say that?'

Isabella laughed. 'It's just an expression, kitten.'

'Oh, should I say it too?'

'Only to the right people.'

'Don't listen to her, Daisy,' Varric piped up, 'and don't _ever _say that around anyone who isn't us.'

'I know what it means, Varric. I'm not a baby.'

Isabella nudged Merril in the ribs. 'Have you been having fun without me?' she asked, unable to hide the smile stretching across her features. She looked like a laughing fox.

Merril blushed and turned away. 'Should we go down there now, Hawke?' she asked, looking at Margaret.

There was a moment of silence as everyone waited for her answer- Margaret was reminded of the saying "the deep breath before the plunge". It certainly felt that way. 'Yes,' she said. Her voice came out hoarser than expected and she swallowed, repeating herself and saying, 'Yes. We're going.'

As they came down onto the main road Margaret suggested that they remain anonymous until they entered the city and found out what was going on. However, they soon came near a group of mages wearing the mark of Starkhaven; one of the mages turned at their approach- an old woman with rheumy grey eyes- and let out a shrill 'Oh!' of surprise. Her companions turned at the sound and immediately stiffened.

'I can guess where this is going,' Fenris muttered.

'Messere Hawke!' The old woman stared at her in astonishment. 'It's you!'

Margaret chanced a look at Fenris, wishing she had his foresight, before clearing her throat. 'Excuse me?'

The mage rushed forward, her steely hair coming lose from its bun, and took Margaret's hand- then to everyone's surprise, she took Anders' too, tears forming in her eyes. 'Thank the Maker!'

'_Wha_t is going on?' Isabella asked, looking from Margaret to the old mage.

Varric chuckled smugly and said, 'looks as though the tale of Hawke has spread far and wide.'

'There are pictures of you in Starkhaven,' the woman explained. 'Prince Vael has been fighting through the district, recruiting soldiers- and posting Wanted posters of you and Messere Anders everywhere,' she added, a little shamefacedly.

Anders groaned and rubbed his face. 'I was hoping that would just go away.'

'He was _very _angry,' said Merril, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. 'I don't think it will.'

Anders rolled his eyes and refrained from responding.

'But how did you get here so quickly? Starkhaven is nearly a three week journey,' said Margaret.

One of the other mages stepped forward and said, 'we had word early, messere.' He was a slender, pale elf with raven black hair and light blue eyes that stood out almost luminously beneath his fringe. 'My name is Renly,' he continued in a low, grave voice that undermined his boyish appearance. 'And this is Stousa,' he waved a hand at the old woman. 'Ever since the unrest in Kirkwall began some of us thought it…prudent to remain in contact and to keep each other abreast of affairs in case the time came when we had to act.' His mouth settled in a grim line. 'Word of the abuses in Kirkwall travelled far. We could no longer sit idly by waiting for somebody else to change things for us. We escaped together, en masse, not long before the rebellion began.'

Anders looked at Renly with open admiration. 'You mean- mages have escaped all over the country? How did you organise it all?'

'With no little difficulty,' Renly replied, a slight hint of humour in his voice. It soon vanished as he continued, 'many of us were detained or recaptured. So far we have heard from only one other group, and they arrived in Hercinia several days ago.'

'Are you coming to help us?' Stousa asked suddenly, reaching for Margaret's hand again.

'Of course,' Anders replied, striding forward to look the old woman in the eye. 'We will not stop until the Templars are abolished and every mage in Thedas has their freedom.'

Margaret bit her lip at the gleam of maddened determination in his eyes and made no comment, only motioning forward in the direction of Hercinia, still at least one day's journey away. 'Let's just get there first, shall we?' she said brightly.

They set off at a brisk pace, Anders lingering at the back of the group to talk with Antonia, Lelaine, Stousa and the other new mages they had picked up. Renly, however, stayed by Margaret's side for some time, saying little and apparently absorbed in his own thoughts. After a few hours he suddenly turned to her and said, 'you were there.'

Margaret jolted and looked around guiltily- she had been staring at the sunlight gleaming in Fenris' silver hair. 'Pardon?'

'When the Chantry exploded,' Renly explained, 'you saw it all happen. You were at the heart of it.'

'I suppose,' Margaret replied cautiously.

Renly frowned, as though grappling with some particularly puzzling problem. 'Was Meredith really the monster they said she was?'

Margaret thought about it for a moment. 'I don't know- how often is anybody simply any one thing? Some days I almost felt like I could sympathise with her. Others… Sometimes after I spoke with her it seemed as if Anders had all the answers.'

'And did he?'

Margaret shrugged. 'Why shouldn't we be free?' she asked softly. 'I just wish the price was not so very high.'

She looked over her shoulder- at Anders talking passionately with the other mages, at the world she had stumbled into beside him- and wondered what her life would have been if not for him, if not for what he had become.

Renly, apparently sated, remained silent for the rest of the day. Margaret could not help but compare him to Fenris- they both spoke only when necessary and without hesitation, they both seemed to possess a mildly disconcerting confidence regardless of who they were with, and neither of them bothered to excuse themselves. They would make a perfect couple, she reflected with a slight smile. Isabela, who was walking beside her, caught Margaret's grin. 'What are you thinking about?' she asked. 'Is it something dirty? Can I hear it?'

Margaret laughed. 'Renly and Fenris,' she whispered, leaning in to Isabela's ear. 'Perfect couple?'

Isabela giggled. 'You know,' she whispered back, eyes widening, 'I've never seen Fenris with any women except us. What if he is…?' She let the last word hang and both women broke out into giggles.

Hearing their sniggering, Fenris turned around. 'What are you laughing about?' he asked perplexedly, casting a quick glance over the group to ascertain if he had missed anything.

'Nothing, pet,' Isabela replied, moving forward and gently running her hands up his arm.

Fenris rankled at the nickname and shook her off. 'Keep your hands to yourself,' he said firmly, though it lacked the vitriol he used to carry whenever he addressed her.

Isabela purred. 'If I didn't know better I'd say you liked it, Fenris.'

'Fortunately you do know better. Now leave me be.'

Isabela sighed and flounced away to walk with Merril. Once she was gone Fenris let out a steady breath and looked around, catching Margaret's eye. 'Has she ever stopped trying to seduce you?' Margaret asked, falling into step beside him.

Fenris smirked and replied, 'never.' They both laughed but after a moment he sobered and asked her, 'how are you? I don't imagine this journey has been particularly easy.'

Margaret smiled and shrugged. 'Who could complain about being at the head of a revolution?'

'I could, for one.'

'I can always rely on you for that, Fenris.'

For a moment he seemed uncertain whether to laugh or not, but seeing the smile on Margaret's face he suddenly let loose a low chuckle. 'I suppose you can.'

They walked along in amiable, mostly unbroken silence until dusk settled and the group stopped to make camp. Stousa, it turned out, was rather adept at laying traps, and had a brace of rabbits captured before most people had even sat down. 'I didn't always live in the Circle,' she said with a nervous smile in answer to Merril's questioning glance.

'Hey, why can't you do that too, Daisy?' Varric asked, looking up briefly as he polished Bianca.

'Oh, I can. I'm just not very good at it,' Merril replied. 'It was mostly the hunter's job anyway so I never really bothered to get better. I probably should have,' she continued guiltily.

Margaret put her sleeping roll down and shook her waterskin, checking to see if it was empty. 'Does anyone know if there's a stream nearby?' she asked.

One of the mages travelling with Renly turned and pointed out into the woods. 'Go that way. You'll see it soon enough.'

Margaret nodded her head in thanks just as Alain stood up too and announced he was going with her. When they reached the stream he perched on a large rock resting near the water and began to wring his hands.

'What's wrong?' Margaret asked, holding out a hand for his flask.

As she leant down to fill it up he said, 'I'm afraid of Anders.'

'You have no reason to be,' Margaret replied, dipping her hands beneath the cool flow. At that moment she was relieved not to have to look him in the eye.

'He reminds me of Grace,' Alain said. 'You saved me from her- you saw what she was like.'

'Anders isn't the same.'

'I know he was the one who blew up the Chantry,' Alain persisted. 'Did you know Grace talked about the same thing? She used to say that there was no compromise, that we mages had to do whatever was necessary to achieve victory.'

Margaret stood up and thrust the waterskin back into his hands, a little harder than she had intended. Alain flinched slightly and hopped to the ground. 'I just want you to be careful, Hawke.'

'Anders is not Grace,' she insisted quietly, in a voice unlike her own. 'I think you should go back to camp Alain. Look after your sister.'

'I'm sorry,' he smiled weakly at her. 'I didn't mean to make you angry.'

'You didn't,' said Margaret tiredly. 'Just go.'

Alain coughed and walked away, leaving Margaret alone by the stream. For a while she waited, watching the moonlight ripple across the water. Alain's words had stung her more deeply than he could possibly guess- Anders _was _unstable, Margaret had guessed that the moment they met, but he was no crackpot like Grace had been. He was not a murderer.

The thought stopped her short- Anders had proven at the Chantry that he was capable, and willing, to commit murder. But he repented, she reminded herself sternly. He took no pleasure in it like Grace had appeared to. It had not perverted him, at least so far as Margaret could tell.

She sighed and dipped her hand into the stream, splashing water on her face. Tomorrow they would arrive in Hercinia, she reflected. Tomorrow there would be no turning back.


	9. Chapter 9

When she came back to camp Margaret saw that everyone, except for Anders and Fenris, was huddled around a large fire, talking and boiling water. She stepped past them to where Anders sat near the edge of her bedroll, with an ink-well on the ground beside him and a crumpled piece of parchment folded over his knee. He was writing frantically and did not notice her approach.

'What are you writing?' she asked, sitting down beside him.

He looked up at her distractedly, a tired smile crinkling his eyes. 'My manifesto. I thought I'd given up on it, but…'

'You're inspired now,' Margaret guessed, looking at their present company.

He nodded. 'In Kirkwall there was no time- everything was so immediate and so grim. I began to believe I was going to fail, that I was just going to die for the cause.' If he noticed the expression on Margaret's face he ignored it, and continued talking. 'But it's really happening. We're really going to overthrow the Templars at last! Or at least, we'll make a good try of it. I wasn't sure it would ever happen- not during my lifetime, anyway.'

'You really think we can defeat them?' she asked sceptically.

'Yes,' Anders replied without a moment's hesitation. 'Even if it doesn't happen now, one day it will. We've started something that can't just be left unfinished. If we fail someone else will pick up the pieces and carry this through to the end, until all mages are free and no longer have to fear the Templars taking their children or their minds. I see that now.'

Margaret sat down beside him and after a moment, somewhat hesitantly, Anders put his work aside and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Margaret revelled in their closeness, breathing in his familiar scent. She feared it would not last.

The next day, shortly after noon, they arrived at the city gates behind a tottering merchant wagon filled with sheepskins. One of the guards, dressed in an oiled leather tunic complete with steel pauldrons, waved the wagon through and looked at Margaret with a frown, apparently recognising her as leader of the party. 'What is your business in Hercinia?' he asked punctiliously.

Unsure of how to respond, Margaret said, 'We come seeking friends and refuge.'

The guard looked over everyone else, apparently unsurprised to see the blatantly undisguised mages travelling together. 'Five coppers for entry,' he said shortly.

Margaret and the others began to drop their coins into his hand, which he deposited into a leather sack hanging from his belt.

'Why such a low fee?' Margaret asked.

The guard smacked his lips, making his moustache quiver. 'The Chancellor's more sympathetic these days,' was his only reply. 'If you're looking for your "friends", I would recommend starting at the Tiger's Tail. Anyone can show you the way. It's in the market district.'

'Thank you, friend,' said Anders earnestly, pressing a sovereign into the guard's hand. 'Maker smile on you.'

'And you.' The guard tipped his helmet to them before hurriedly waving them through and pulling the gate shut.

Hercinia was a bustling city, full of ramshackle wooden buildings through which mages openly passed, many of them wearing ostentatious robes purchased from the many vendors that all but carpeted the streets. A distinct aroma of frying meat and ale wafted through the air, making Margaret's stomach rumble- a sound that was overpowered by the loud cat calls from whores lingering near the taverns, jewellers trying to make themselves heard over the crowds as they spruiked their wares, and a large population of urchins who stumbled through the mass of bodies asking anyone who looked promising if they needed their shoes shined.

'This is amazing,' Merril gasped, looking at the city in awe. 'Kirkwall was never like this. Look at that!' she pointed to where a red-haired mage stood, cheerfully shooting little bolts of energy into the air, apparently unpreoccupied with anything else in the world.

'This is what we're fighting for,' said Anders firmly. 'A world like this- where mages can live among ordinary people without fear or prosecution.'

'I doubt it's so simple,' Fenris said suddenly, appearing beside him.

'And why shouldn't it be?'

'Because people are never unified, mage. Maybe this section of the city tolerates mages, but I doubt you shall find the same patience everywhere.'

'It does seem a little odd,' said Margaret after a moment. 'I've never heard of people just being fine with magic, especially so openly.'

Fenris nodded. 'Something here is not right.'

Anders spun around on them both. 'And what if this is what "right" should be? How can you just throw away the hope that this city has embraced freedom and equality? Why is it that whenever you see something good you only work to destroy it?'

Margaret reached out to him. 'Don't you think it's a little strange that all these people are just completely fine with mages doing magic openly among them, without supervision? I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with it- it's just that most people expect Templars to be watching us. Most people are afraid of demons.'

Anders quietened and took a breath. 'Yes, I know that. I'm sorry,' he said, with a significant look at Margaret. 'I'm not feeling like myself today.'

She smiled at him and took his hand. 'Come on.'

They approached the mage who was casting magic in the street. His red hair hung long and wiry over his shoulders, streaked with grey, and his face was old and kindly. He did not seem to notice their approach until Margaret called out to him.

'Oh, hello there,' he said slowly, blinking as if coming out of a daze. 'Is something the matter?' His voice was tremulous with age and he had a doddering kindness that left Margaret warming to him immediately.

'No.' Margaret smiled at him and held out her hand. 'My name's Margaret. My friends and I have recently arrived here in Hercinia.'

The mage took Margaret's hand with long, wizened fingers and looked over her shoulder, smiling at the sizeable party milling behind her. 'I see,' he said happily, releasing her grasp.

'We're looking for the Tiger's Tail,' said Varric.

'Oh, it's just up there and around the corner,' replied the mage, gesturing vaguely. 'Follow the main road and you won't miss it.'

'Thank you,' said Margaret.

As they began to walk away the mage called out, 'look for the boy in blue!'

'The boy in blue?' Merril asked once they moved on. 'I like that.'

'Definitely a winning title,' said Varric.

'I knew a whore once who called herself "the girl in gold",' recalled Isabella fondly. 'Those were the days.'

Soon they came to a rather battered, cosy-looking inn resting just off the main street.

'Conspicuous,' Fenris remarked with a hint of disdain.

Varric snorted. 'Look at this city, elf. Do you really think they care about being subtle?'

'Perhaps not,' replied Fenris with a shrug. 'Still, it would be prudent.'

'It would be,' agreed Renly, the first words he had spoken all day.

Margaret could not resist the urge to share a grin with Isabela as they stepped through the doorway. 'Any day now,' the pirate whispered in her ear.

Margaret waved her away. The Tiger's Tail was painted bright orange, with weathered planks of oak making up the floor, which was cluttered with mismatched tables and benches.

'Oh my,' said Merril. 'This isn't at all like the Hanged Man.'

'You can say that again, Daisy,' said Varric, looking around him with a hint of alarm. 'Orange and brown- what were they thinking?'

Margaret only smiled. She rather liked the look of the place- it was warm and welcoming, exactly what they needed after three weeks living in the wilds. Most of the patrons seemed to be mages, and hardly noticed Margaret or her companions as they came in, apparently preferring to drink and enthuse with one another.

'Maker's breath, Hawke,' said Varric. 'Look at them all. They look so… relaxed.'

'Unnatural,' said Fenris, so quietly that only Margaret heard.

'That mage said to find the boy in blue.' Margaret cast her eyes over the crowd, soon spotting a young, auburn haired mage sitting near the bar. He was wearing carefully tailored blue robes that looked as though they had seen more than one instance of combat, and since he was sitting sideways Margaret saw the long, drooping slope of his nose quite prominently. He sat alone, looking preoccupied in contrast to the other jovial patrons.

'You should find a table,' Margaret told the others, pulling out her coin purse. 'Get something to eat while I speak with him.'

'I'm coming,' said Anders, as though daring her to challenge him.

Margaret only nodded and began weaving her way through the press of tables, Anders following quietly after her. When they drew close the boy turned around suddenly, as though sensing their presence. Up close Margaret saw that he was indeed a boy- but the appellation did not seem to suit the age and weariness of his eyes, or the premature lines sprouting from his mouth. Freckles stretched across his nose and a long swirling tattoo covered his right hand. 'Who are you?' he asked without pre-empt.

Margaret sat down a stool beside him. 'My name's Margaret Hawke. This is Anders.'

He made a soft sound of surprise and his eyes widened. 'My name is Connor. Connor Guerrin. I've heard a lot about you, Champion. And you,' he said after a moment, nodding to Anders. 'I don't think you need to explain to me why you're here in Hercinia.'

Margaret chuckled. 'No, I would certainly hope not. But this city… I knew mages were coming here, but I must admit I didn't expect this.'

A shadow seemed to fall over Connor's face. 'The Chancellor here has been working quietly for many years to make things safer for the mages. I should know- I've been the one helping him to do it. I left the Circle in Ferelden a few years ago to come here after I made contact with a local apostate. She said circumstances in Hercinia were different, and she was right- she was the Chancellor's daughter.'

'That explains a lot,' said Anders. 'It did seem strange for a politician just to start helping us out of the kindness of his heart.'

Connor picked up his tankard and took a sip. 'I take it you want to join the resistance, then?' he said, putting it back down on the bench.

'Yes,' Margaret replied. 'But I would like to know…exactly what it is I'm getting into.'

Connor wiped his mouth on his sleeve. 'Hercinia is an unusual place,' he said musingly. 'I would assume you noticed that the moment you arrived.' When Margaret nodded he continued, 'a woman came here a few months ago. She's been living with the Chancellor since then, and ever since her appearance the citizens here have relaxed. Remarkably.' The cynicism was heavy in his tone. 'No harm has come of it. Not yet, anyway.'

'A woman?' asked Anders, sounding puzzled.

'Yes,' Connor replied. 'She speaks to no one but the Chancellor. Not at all unusual.'

'Do you think she's a threat?' asked Margaret.

Connor offered no response other than to swallow another mouthful of ale. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. 'Come to this address tonight if you're interested in helping us. That's where the coalition meets.'

Margaret took the paper and hid it in her robes. 'What exactly is the coalition?'

'The only real organisation of mages outside the Circle. Most of the apostates who come here do so only to flee from the Chantry and the Templars, but some of them are truly interested in aiding the rebellion. Not all of us are content to sit and rot whilst the Templars build up their strength,' he said bitterly. 'The Chancellor attends the meetings as well. The presence of two people such as yourselves would be very welcome.' Connor slid from his seat and stood up- for a moment Margaret glimpsed a wicked-looking blade hanging from his belt, but the cape of his robes soon folded over it. 'I have business to attend to- but welcome to Hercinia.' He took each of their hands in turn, revealing a firm, almost painful grip. 'I hope it's everything you imagined,' he said through gritted teeth, before turning away and disappearing into the crush.


	10. Chapter 10

Neria looked on as Alistair ran through the gardens after a small, golden haired boy- his son, Jon. Not far away the queen was sitting on the ground, sewing, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. She was laughing as she watched the two of them, but when she spotted Neria her enjoyment seemed to falter, though she still had a smile for the Warden-Commander.

The two women rarely spoke to each other, but they had both learned to accept the other one's presence long ago. Neria could not help but be somewhat jealous when she saw the queen and her family, avoiding them whenever she could, and in turn the queen never spoke of her with Alistair- for many years they had simply acted as though the third member of their marriage did not exist, a situation which seemed to suit everyone well.

Jon giggled and fell to the ground as Alistair loomed over him, tickling and prodding his sides. 'Some warrior you'll make,' Neria heard the king shout jovially, his voice booming across the courtyard. 'You couldn't even outrun a darkspawn!'

'I could,' Jon protested, his voice broken with laughter. 'I could if I wanted to!'

Neria coughed, catching Alistair's attention. The king smiled at her and pulled the boy up roughly, carrying him upside down as he giggled madly, brushing his hands across the ground. 'Go harass your mother,' said Alistair, dropping him by the queen. 'Elissa, will you watch him for a moment?'

'Certainly.' She smiled and reached out for Jon, pulling him into her arms. 'I want you to tell me the name of every flower in this garden,' she said, beginning to point to each one as Jon described it.

Alistair left them, coming over to where Neria waited in the shadows. She had been leaning against an archway but stood up as he approached, bowing slightly and saying, 'Your Majesty.'

'Warden Commander,' Alistair replied formally, though his eyes were twinkling. 'Please, come upstairs.' He pulled open a door sequestered into the stone wall- a secret passage leading up to the royal suite.

'I can't stay in Denerim any longer,' said Neria, once they were alone. 'I'm neglecting my duties.'

Alistair frowned and sat down. 'I thought you might say as much. Wine?'

Neria nodded and allowed him to pour her glass before swallowing it in one. 'How's Jon going?'

The gloomy look faded from Alistair's face. 'Well. The other day I found Teagan sword fighting with him in the atrium. He's only seven, but I can already see he'll be good. A fine successor for when the day comes.'

'You've named Teagan as regent?'

'Yes- I hate to say it, but Eamon's getting too old for it now. He's started forgetting things. The other day he kept calling me Maric. It was creepy.'

Neria poured herself another goblet. 'That's sad. I never imagined something like that happening to Eamon.'

'It is.' Alistair looked thoughtfully into his cup for a moment before setting it aside. 'When do you leave?'

'Tomorrow. I received some disturbing news from the Wardens in Orlais.'

'What was it?'

'They say that the Grand Divine has been hectoring them as much as the Grand Cleric has been hectoring us. I think that the Wardens will be part of what's happening in the Free Marches soon enough- whether we want it or not.'

'Terrific.' Alistair rubbed his eyes and continued sarcastically, 'you know, if you want to hear even more news I received word from Constance yesterday.'

'What did she have to say?'

'That if I didn't allow her certain privileges with the Wardens and with the state that she'd apply to the Grand Divine.'

'What?' Neria stared at him in shock. 'But that's an open threat. Assuming the Grand Divine even heeds her, it would mean bringing foreign troops into Ferelden! Is she mad?'

Alistair shrugged. 'Probably. She's pretty old. Besides, I think she's starting to lose faith in her own Templars.'

'What do you mean?'

'Just that the trouble in the Free Marches isn't limited to the mages. The Templars have been abandoning the Order too, or breaking from the Chantry altogether so that they can operate independently, seeing to the mages as they see fit. With varying results,' he added grimly. 'Some of them seem more lenient, others far less so. The events in Kirkwall seemed to have polarised them. Cullen's the only one who's still sticking to the rules.'

'Maker. Do you think the same thing could happen here?'

'I don't know. I can't say I like the idea of Templars running rampant across the country.' Alistair stood up and pressed his forehead to Neria's. 'All of this is giving me a headache. I wish you didn't have to leave.'

'Neither do I,' Neria replied. She leaned forward and kissed him softly, only barely pressing her lips to his. 'But we both have our parts to play. And they're important ones.'

Alistair grumbled and reached up, eyes closed, to pull at her hair, gently freeing it from the long plait she wore down her back. 'How long has it been since you cut your hair?' he asked absently, running his hands through the long strands.

'Two years or something. You should see Oghren's beard.'

'Ha!' Alistair opened his eyes and pulled away slightly, staring at her face. 'When are you coming back?'

Neria shrugged. 'I don't know. When I can. Probably not for a while.'

'I could order you to stay.'

'No you couldn't,' Neria replied, smiling. 'We Wardens are exempt, remember.'

'Well, maybe I'll listen to the Grand Cleric more often.' He leaned forward, his hands drifting down to the ties of her armour as he kissed her neck. 'I have a few free hours before my next meeting,' he said huskily.

Neria pulled his face up to hers and murmured between kisses, 'then let's not waste it, shall we?'

Alistair laughed, holding her to his chest as he backpedalled towards the door, locking it with a loud click. 'You know, I've begun to find beds a little conventional,' he murmured, staring hungrily as he tugged her jerkin away, throwing it across the room. 'What do you think?'

Neria grinned impishly up at him. 'Your Majesty- I couldn't agree more.'

Neria left the next day at dawn, slipping from beneath Alistair's arm without waking him. She dressed quickly and disappeared down one of the side passages, encountering only servants rushing to the kitchens- for which she was very thankful. She found her horse, Scrapper, in the stables, lazily chewing on some hay instead of sleeping, as though he expected her arrival. As Neria saddled him he seemed to regard her somewhat sardonically. 'Oh, shut up,' she said as she jumped onto his back. 'It's just easier this way.'

Scrapper snorted as though in amusement and together they passed quickly through the city gates and out into the countryside, taking the road to Amaranthine. As the sun began to pierce the horizon Neria knew Alistair would wake up unsurprised- she always left him without saying goodbye. It was their little unspoken agreement that made things simpler.

It was a two day journey to Amaranthine and when Neria arrived the next day she found Nathaniel waiting for her at the gate. 'Had any breakfast?' he asked as she approached.

Neria shook her head and he said, 'well, trust me, have some now- you're going to need it.'

'What's going on?' Neria asked, sliding from the saddle.

Nathaniel grunted and pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders. His hair was no longer as long as it had been- it was fairly short now and a dark line of stubble, the hint of a beard, lined his jaw. For nearly five years he and Velanna had been sharing rooms at the back of the compound. 'More letters from the Marches- the Chancellor of Hercinia is asking us to declare ourselves, so is the Chantry.'

Neria groaned. 'They can't be serious- the whole point of the Wardens is that we don't become involved in these things!'

'And yet we always seem to,' Nathaniel replied. 'I left those letters to you- everything else is taken care of.'

'Thank you. Maybe I will have that breakfast. And some wine.'

Nathaniel chuckled. 'Not even Oghren's started yet.'

'That's only because he's asleep.'

'True.'

Neria passed him the reins. 'Sorry, but can you take Scrapper to the stables and find someone to wash him down? I should see to this.'

'Not a problem.' Nathaniel nodded to her and made his way to the stables, leaving Neria free to go straight to the main compound.

Sigrun, always an early riser, called out to Neria as she entered the breakfast hall (as it was called in the morning, otherwise it was the lunch hall, then the dinner hall, and after that the drinking hall). 'Commander! How was Denerim?' she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Neria sat down beside her and reached eagerly for a side of bacon. 'Same as usual.'

'Ouch.'

'Not that that's a bad thing.'

'I guess. That king is a handsome man.'

'Mmmm.' Neria offered only one syllable answers to her from then on, too busy trying to quell her vicious hunger before returning to work. When she was done she stood up, wine goblet in hand, and pressed her hand to Sigrun's shoulder. 'Come by my office later and we'll gossip. For today, just see to it that the recruits can throw their daggers without poking somebody's eye out. Unintentionally, that is.'

'You got it, Commander.'

Neria rushed upstairs to her room and got changed, eagerly throwing off her dirty clothes from the road before going to her office, looking through the letters from the Chancellor and the Grand Cleric. Neria was almost positive that the latter was not penned by Constance herself- it was too polite- but the one from the Chancellor was written in a wild, scrawling hand that any seneschal would be ashamed of. She began drafting replies, emphasising the Warden's neutrality, until a more reasonable hour arrived when she could call up Varel and have him summon the senior Wardens. Varel was still just as prompt and energetic as ever, though he no longer carried a sword with him because of the weight, and had walked with a limp ever since the siege of Vigil's Keep, in the course of which he had nearly lost his leg.

It was almost ninth bell when the others arrived- even Oghren- and assembled in Neria's office. 'I know all of you are aware,' Neria began, looking at Velanna, Sigrun, Nathaniel and Oghren in turn, 'of what has been happening, and despite my allusions to the contrary the Wardens, it seems, will not be able to remain separate from it.'

'Nug-humpers,' Oghren grumbled, 'I'm tired of playing princess with all those Chantry sods. Dwarves don't have to worry about mages- let's just have at 'em and be done with it.'

'I agree with the dwarf,' said Velanna, looking somewhat surprised at herself. 'No good can come of siding with the Templars. If we do we'll only suffer under their presence further.'

'Not to mention we'll lose our most valuable recruits,' Nathaniel added. 'The Chantry has never harboured anything but distrust for the Wardens. I think this is the opportunity we've been waiting for, Neria. They're splintered, unstable- at the moment the odds are even.'

Sigrun shrugged, apparently unconcerned. 'What else are we going to do, Commander? It's not like the priests will play nice if they come out on top.'

Neria leaned back against her desk. 'I know- but the consequences of siding against the Chantry aren't exactly desirable. We could lose the support of the people here- we could just lose full stop, and that would throw the Wardens into jeopardy.'

'I think you underestimate your esteem,' said Nathaniel. 'The people of Amaranthine have been under the care of a mage for more than ten years, and they still support you. We've protected their lands from darkspawn, from raiders, given them food during famine,' he ticked off the deeds on his fingers. 'They won't turn against you.'

'Perhaps. Regardless,' Neria continued, 'I don't have the power to act alone. I'm sending out notices to the other Commanders calling for a meeting. If they'll agree or not is anyone's guess, but I need you all to be aware that things here will begin to change, soon. I want training hours with the recruits lengthened- double them if you have to. _Just get them ready_. I also want you to start stockpiling and have Wade resume full-scale weapon crafting and armour repair. Have anything superfluous taken to market.' She crossed her arms and clicked her fingers, sending out a small spark of energy that flashed viciously across the room. 'We need to be prepared for what's coming.'


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: Just a quick thank-you to Alaskantiger for your reviews, and to all the people who have favourited or added me to their alerts list. Onward!**_

'Hawke.' Margaret looked up at the sound of her name. She was sharing a room at the Tiger's Tail with Aveline and Merri; next door to them Anders, Fenris and Varric were bunked, and a few doors down Alain was sharing a room with his sister and Antonia. The rest of the mages seemed to have found other lodgings for the night, though Renly had asked Margaret to take him with her to the collective meeting.

Aveline was standing in the doorway, looking hesitant. She had been mostly quiet throughout the course of their journey, hardly saying a word unless Margaret asked her directly. The presence of so many mages seemed to make her uneasy.

'We're alone,' said Margaret, guessing her need for secrecy. 'Isabela hit the whorehouses without even having a bath.'

Aveline rolled her eyes. 'Of course she did.'

'But you love her anyway,' said Margaret, grinning.

'She's useful,' said Aveline grudgingly. 'Listen, Hawke, I wanted to talk to you.'

'What about?'

Aveline sat down, shaking her head when Margaret offered her a cup of ale. 'Are you sure you know what you're doing?'

Margaret frowned. 'Don't tell me this is about the mages- Aveline, we've come this far. I won't stop now. I don't think any of us can.'

'That isn't what I meant.' Aveline frowned and looked at her, her green eyes creased with worry. 'I've never told anyone this, Hawke. I want your word that you won't tell anyone either, not even Anders.' She paused. 'Especially Anders.'

'Of course.' Margaret pulled her chair closer to Aveline. 'What is it, Aveline?' she asked quietly. 'What's going on?'

Aveline grimaced and reached up to adjust her headband, fiddling with it before dropping her hands into her lap. 'I've been married twice, Hawke. Didn't you ever wonder why I didn't have children?'

Margaret said nothing- the thought had crossed her mind more than once.

Aveline sighed and continued. 'I can't. With Wesley I wasn't sure- the problem might have been with either one of us, but after Donnic… The point is, I know I'll never have a family of my own, but I've thought about it, many times.' She reached up to play with her headband again, not meeting Margaret's eye. 'I know you love Anders- but I can't think of a more unsuitable father,' she said bluntly. 'Any children you have with him would be in danger their whole lives.'

She turned to face Margaret defiantly, daring her to scream or to start a fight.

Margaret stared at her in shock for a moment. 'How _dare _you?' she said when she regained her voice, jumping to her feet. 'What exactly are you suggesting?'

Aveline swallowed. 'The others are too afraid to say it, but I know it's true. This child will ruin you, Hawke. Whether directly or because Anders loses control one day and does something terrible. I'm your friend- I always will be. I just want you to know the truth.'

Without thinking Margaret lashed out, her hand swiping across Aveline's cheek and leaving a long red shadow behind. 'In ten years you've never bothered to get to know him! All you see is a dangerous maleficar- not a man. You have no idea what you're talking about.'

Aveline pressed her hand to her cheek without a hint of surprise. 'Can you say you trust him, then? Would you leave him alone with your child on a daily basis?'

Margaret shivered with repressed rage that was made all the worse by Aveline's suggestions- suggestions that had crossed her own mind. 'Out,' she said, pointing a hand at the door. 'Get out!'

Aveline stood up obediently, but made no move to walk away. 'How long will you hide from the truth, Hawke? I can tell you recognise it. Your loyalty to him will ruin more lives than just your own.'

There was a knock on the door- it was Renly, peering at them both with unabashed curiosity. 'Am I interrupting?'

'No,' Aveline shook her head and smiled at him, hurrying from the room with another backwards glance at Margaret, still trembling by the fire.

The elf approached her without a glimmer of unease or embarrassment. 'Is there anything I can do?' he asked promptly.

Margaret was suddenly extremely grateful for his presence. 'Just have everyone who's coming to the meeting outside in ten minutes.'

He nodded and stepped away, his eyes grazing her face. 'As you wish.'

Margaret swallowed more ale, taking a moment to gather herself before reaching for her cloak and her staff. She would not think about Aveline right now- there were more important matters to attend do; a fact that seemed to be undermined by the endless laughter and giggling that rose like vapour from the tavern below. It hardly seemed the place to foster a revolution.

Outside she found Anders, Renly, Lelaine, and to her surprise, Fenris, waiting for her. Margaret raised her eyebrow at him but he said nothing, remaining silent as they set off into the dark, night-time streets of Hercinia.

'This is it,' said Margaret when they reached a white mansion house with an overgrown garden. A single red lantern hung near the door, casting vivid crimson light over the sprawling vines and flowers fighting for space against the walls. Margaret made her way uncertainly to the entrance and reached for a pale, oblong knocker hanging from a glinting silver chain. The stone rang against the door, loudly shattering the still atmosphere of the city streets.

A minute passed and just as Margaret reached for the knocker once more the door swung open, revealing Connor. 'You came,' he said, smiling at her. 'Please, come in.'

A long passage covered with an expensive green carpet stretched out into the chasm of the house- a giant atrium made of white stone, open to the night sky. Margaret gaped at the sight- she had never seen anything like it. 'This… is not what I expected,' she admitted, looking around her.

Connor only smiled. 'We don't need to hide here. This house used to belong to a nobleman but he died some time ago without heirs. It seemed appropriate that we should meet here- life arising from death.' He grimaced slightly. 'At least, that's how some of us see it. I'm just relieved I don't have to hide underground or in taverns anymore.'

Connor led them through the atrium, across its leave-strewn floor and into a brightly lit hallway that sloped, clearly going below ground level. 'I thought you just said you didn't have to be underground here,' said Anders.

'Figuratively,' Connor replied with a low chuckle.

The passage led to a set of arched double doors that towered over Margaret's head. Dragons, freshly carved, were etched into the polished wood and seemed to glare down at the party as they passed. Beyond the doors (which Connor closed carefully behind them) was a richly appointed circular chamber. Sconces emitting the sweet fragrance of roses burned against the walls, each one directly opposite one of the tall, mahogany seats that were placed around a gleaming, marble table. In the chairs sat a number of people Margaret did not recognise- one of them a tall, rather stately man with stark white hair and sharp grey eyes who stood up and came to greet them. 'Connor,' he said in a low, rumbling voice. 'I take it these are your new friends.'

'Yes, Chancellor.'

'Delighted, just delighted.' He held out a hand to Margaret- against the black silk of his sleeves it seemed a ghostly apparition.

Margaret greeted him in turn and asked, 'You are the Chancellor?'

'I am he- Chancellor Alfred Burroughs, and I believe I know who you are,' he said, the smile never leaving his slender lips. 'Margaret Hawke, none other than the Champion herself, if I am not mistaken.'

Without waiting for her reply he turned to the others. 'And you must be Anders- an inspiration, to be sure,' he said warmly, shaking Anders hands thoroughly. 'I am afraid I am unfamiliar with the rest of your companions.'

Without waiting to be introduced Renly stepped forward and bowed slightly. 'I am Renly of Starkhaven, Your Grace.'

The Chancellor nodded, smiling at him like an uncle watching his favourite nephew. 'Your reputation precedes you,' he said. 'I have had the pleasure of meeting your associates when they arrived- they spoke very highly of you.'

Renly only nodded, his composure unaffected by the Chancellor's praise. After a moment the old man- though old hardly seemed a fitting word for him- turned to Lelaine and Fenris, greeting them with the same vigour and cordiality he had shown Margaret. Lelaine seemed to light up at the sight of him, Anders too was watching him warmly. Fenris, on the other hand, seemed utterly unimpressed.

The Chancellor beckoned them further into the room. 'Please, sit down,' he said briskly. 'There are seats aplenty this evening, I think you'll find.'

Margaret soon found herself seated beside a muscular man with greying black hair that fell just past his ears. 'Greetings, Serah Hawke,' he said pleasantly. 'I am Ser Favros, senior Templar of Hercinia.'

Margaret froze, her eyes widening with alarm. Her hand went immediately for her staff but the Chancellor was soon on his feet, his hands held out towards her in supplication. 'Ser Favros means you no harm, Champion!' he called out in a calm, clear voice. 'He is one of us.'

Anders was standing too, his eyes fixed on the Templar. 'How can you be so sure?' he asked, his eyes narrowed with a suspicion. 'He's a Templar- how can we trust any of them?'

'I can speak for myself,' said Ser Favros, turning with a slight bow in Anders' direction. 'I have heard of you, mage. I understand you have good reason to fear the Order- but I hope you have not forgotten that behind our helmets, Templars remain human beings.' He waited, his words echoing around the stone room.

Anders did not back down. 'Last I checked human beings committed atrocities every day, Templar or not.' Blue light suddenly began to flare behind his eyes. 'How many mages have you had beaten? How many children did you steal? Did you stand by as injustice flourished, doing nothing?'

Margaret looked around and saw that the other people at the table were beginning to stir- aside from the Chancellor, who only looked on with narrow, uncompromising eyes.

Hearing the creak of Ser Favros' armour as he reached for his sword, Margaret threw her chair behind her and stood. 'Anders think! This man is our ally- by killing him you only hurt us; you hurt yourself and every other mage.'

'His crimes cannot be ignored!'

'That's Justice talking, Anders. Not you.' Margaret half-ran around the table to his side. Grabbing his face roughly in her hands, she said, 'I know you, just like you know me. Justice doesn't know us. He isn't even human. Don't listen to him.'

Anders jerked angrily as though he was going to throw her away. Fenris jumped to his feet, his hands flying to his greatsword, but Margaret stopped him with a look. 'You have a son, Anders. And a woman who loves you. Come back.'

The angry blue glare of his eyes intensified for a moment, and then began to fade. Anders took a long, shuddering breath and slumped against her. He pulled away again just as quickly. 'I'm so sorry,' he said hopelessly, turning to the Chancellor.

'Not at all,' the Chancellor replied, his eyes intent, alight with curiosity. 'A curious condition it would seem- though perhaps you might find it useful to retire early and rest.' His tone brooked no argument.

'Yes.' Anders nodded, his expression blank. 'I shouldn't be here.'

He left the meeting room quickly, without a glance in Margaret's direction. She hesitated, torn by the dreadful desire to follow him. As his footsteps faded away into the distance she reached for Renly's arm and murmured to him, 'tell me everything,' before rushing out the door, desperate to catch up with Anders before he left.

She did not need to go far to find him- as soon as she was outside Margaret spotted Anders slumped against a wall across the street, his head hanging in his hands. He looked up, dimly registering her as she approached.

'You should be in there,' he said tonelessly.

'I should be with you,' Margaret replied firmly, settling beside him.

Anders let out a bitter bark of laughter. 'How can you still say that? Maker, I can't even _look _at a Templar. Even thinking about them makes me- makes _him_- so angry. Too angry.' He looked at her bleakly. 'I wanted to help every mage and now I can't even do that. Fenris was right- I am an abomination, in the worst sense of the word.' Anders laughed again and began to gesture wildly, his arms swinging out wide. 'How many others started out like me, do you think? How many blood mages? How many monsters? All this time I thought I was better; different. But I'm not. I'm just the same.'

Margaret felt her heart twist as she looked at him. 'You're not a monster, Anders.'

'Aren't I?' He pushed away from the wall and tugged at his head, pulling away tufts of straw-coloured hair. 'I just want him GONE!' he roared suddenly, doubling over. 'I want to be myself again. Me! Anders!'

Margaret rushed forward, gathering him in her arms, and gently pulled his hands away from his bleeding scalp. 'I promise, Anders. I will save you,' she said fiercely, kissing his cheeks. 'I swear it- no matter not, I _will _save you.'


	12. Chapter 12

'How is he?' Fenris asked stiffly when he returned, Renly walking quietly behind him.

'Sleeping,' Margaret replied. 'We'll need to rearrange the rooms- I don't think it's a good idea for he and I to be separated right now.'

Fenris gave a curt nod, his expression decidedly disdainful. The Tiger's Tail was almost empty now, aside from a few people passed out in an incoherent pile around one particular table. Margaret belatedly noticed that one of the hunched-over bodies was Isabela, one of her arms braced over the shoulders of a huge, hairy man whose dark beard appeared to have consumed his torso.

'We can go over everything in the morning,' said Renly, looking curiously at the drunken wreckage. 'I'm sure this isn't the time.' Inclining his head slightly to them both, the mage disappeared upstairs.

Margaret leaned back against the bar and Fenris mimicked her action with a small, amused smile. Margaret grinned back at him, surprised by his playfulness. 'I'm glad you're here, Fenris.'

After a moment he said, 'so am I.' He kept smiling, looking oddly contented. His green eyes glimmered softly in the dim candelight, the orange flames bringing out their warmth.

'You look better when you smile,' Margaret observed.

'Is my appearance inadequate when I don't?' asked Fenris, one of his eyebrows quirking.

Margaret laughed and looked away. 'Hardly. Still, a smile doesn't hurt.'

'They are better when they are earned, and in the company of friends.'

Side by side, Margaret could feel the heat coming off him- a steady, gentle blaze that seemed to bring her back from the frazzled extremities of the night and set her at ease. Renly was right- the last thing she wanted to discuss was the mage meeting.

As if sensing her mood, Fenris suddenly nudged her side, threatening to push her off her seat. Margaret gaped at him in surprise then returned the jab with vigour. Fenris started laughing- the first time Margaret had truly heard him let loose. 'You're so juvenile!' she gasped, flabbergasted.

Fenris quietened down and, still chuckling, murmured, 'perhaps.'

He was still looking at her with those same warm eyes, even now that the laughter had stopped. He had faint lines spreading from his mouth and eyes; things Margaret had never noticed before, and she found herself staring back, watching the pleasant interplay of his shadows on his face- until a snore from Isabela's corner jolted her.

Heat bloomed on her cheeks. 'I should go upstairs,' she murmured apologetically. 'See you in the morning.'

As she turned away he said softly, 'sleep well, Hawke.'

The next morning Anders seemed perfectly happy again, if a little quiet. Margaret noted the change with pleasure and sidled in beside him as they ate breakfast, occasionally trying to force food into his mouth. Anders snorted and pushed her away, his eyes crinkling merrily. They said nothing- only ate and played in silence until a knock sounded from the door.

Anders looked over at her, smirking dangerously. 'Are we in?' he asked slyly.

Margaret rolled her eyes at him and called out for whoever it was to enter. It was Renly. The elf looked at them both in bed, covered with crumbs, and frowned. 'Is this an… inappropriate time?' he asked slowly.

Margaret shook her head, 'No, please come in. Sit down by the hearth.'

Renly sat, resting his hands on his knees. 'The Chancellor is man of great ambition,' he began abruptly. 'It is his intention to free mages entirely from Chantry control.'

Anders stood up, slipping on his robes in one fluid movement.

'Not only that,' Renly continued, 'he seems to want to destroy the Chantry itself.'

Margaret's eyes flew between both the men before her. 'The first part I can understand… but to wage war on the entire _Chantry_? That's madness!'

Anders pulled his hair back in a loose tail and brushed the crumbs off his chin. 'Is it?' he asked darkly.

Renly only looked at her. 'He claimed his interests lay only in removing the Free Marches and the mages living here from Chantry control. He made no mention of any other nations. I don't think there's any other way to get what we want.'

Margaret held out her hand and Anders passed her tunic. Renly politely turned away, only turning back when Margaret assured him it was fine. Fully dressed, she stood up and went to the window. 'And how exactly does he plan to do this?' she asked, looking out at the city unfolding below her beneath a thin layer of morning mist. Already the distant cries of hawkers were starting to penetrate the air.

'He wants to unite the Free Marches,' said Renly. 'He's planning to call for a Grand Council. And he wants the Champion to be there.'

Margaret gaped and turned around. 'He wants _me_?'

'He wants all of us,' Renly amended. 'You, me, Anders- every mage he can get. Especially the ones with power. Mages trust you.'

Anders folded his arms over his chest, the determined gleam back in his eyes. 'You're our leader now. All these mages here- Margaret, they expect _you _to represent them.'

'Maker.' Margaret dropped her face into her palms, revelling in the darkness. 'This is insane,' she murmured, her voice muffled by her hands.

'A drastic turn of events,' Renly conceded. 'But a necessary one.'

Anders made a noise of agreement.

'So what happens next?' Margaret asked, looking up at them both. 'What do we do?'

Renly stood up and went to the door. 'The Chancellor wants to see you,' he said over his shoulder. 'As soon as possible.'

When he was gone Margaret sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress sank as Anders sat down behind her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. 'Hawke?' His voice was soft, uncertain.

She turned around to him regretfully. 'I thought this was going to be such a nice morning.' Even as she said it that image of Fenris, his eyes warm and laughing as he looked at her, flashed behind her eyes.

'There are always things more important than ourselves.'

Margaret sighed. 'I thought we might begin looking today.' When Anders only looked at her blankly she continued; 'For a way to help you. There's a library here, right? And more mages than I've ever seen.' She said nothing about her hopes for their child- that was the last thing Anders needed to hear.

His face became a mask. 'Perhaps we should just go and see the Chancellor.' He stood up abruptly. 'I'll go and get some water for a bath.'

'Anders!'

But he was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him. Rather than wait for his return Margaret decided to get properly dressed and go downstairs. She suddenly had a very powerful longing to see Merril and Isabella.

Sure enough, she found them by the bar; Isabella resting her head tiredly in one hand whilst Merril chattered away beside her. 'Hello, Hawke!' the elf called out cheerfully.

Margaret recognised the pink flush on her friend's cheeks. 'Are you drunk?' she asked incredulously. 'It's not even tenth bell!'

Merril shrugged. 'Varric always talks about getting drunk in the morning so I thought I'd try it. It's quite nice so far. I thought I might go for a walk later and talk to the mages outside.'

Margaret looked at the elf skeptically. 'Isabela? Will you keep an eye on Merril?'

The pirate only groaned incoherently in response. Margaret sighed and turned around, hoping to find someone else- only to see Fenris, walking slowly down the stairs, his white hair messy with sleep. Margaret felt a little thrill inside her chest and turned around.

'…can look after myself, you know,' Merril was saying.

'You're right,' Margaret agreed quickly. 'I'm sorry, Merril.'

'That's okay.'

'Will you come and meet the Chancellor with me?' Margaret focused intently on Merril's face, unwilling to turn around. She could all but feel Fenris' eyes on her across the tavern.

'Oh, yes, that sounds like fun. I'd like to hear what he has to say about everything.' Merril stood up and swayed uncertainly on her feet. 'I'll just wash my face first,' she said, smiling sweetly.

Margaret turned to watch her go in exasperation- and inadvertently caught Fenris' eye. He smiled at her in the same, restrained way that he usually did, and Margaret decided to go and sit with him, pretending that nothing between them had changed. 'Hawke,' he said by way of greeting.

'Have you already eaten?' Margaret asked him.

He shook his head. 'I assume Renly told you what the Chancellor intends.'

'He did. I…I don't know what to make of it,' Margaret admitted. 'In Kirkwall everything seemed so much smaller.'

Fenris' mouth quirked. 'I suppose a dragon-slayer may have considered Meredith to be small game.' A second later he was all seriousness. 'One city does pale in comparison to a country.'

Margaret was soon smiling, her anxieties unravelling in his presence. The sound of boots came from the stairwell and she recognized Anders' feet. Margaret started, feeling guilty, but Fenris seemed unconcerned and merely continued sipping his ale.

'Morning,' said Anders absently, straightening his robes. He laughed when he saw Isabela and immediately went to her, pressing his hands on either side of her head. There was a gentle glow of blue light and she let out a groan of pleasure that made Fenris raise his eyebrows.

'Ohhh, that's better,' Isabela purred, immediately twirling around on her stool. She winked at Margaret and smiled lewdly at Anders. 'Your girl over there is _lucky_.'

Anders offered her a mock bow before taking his seat beside Margaret, gently thumping his leg against hers under the table.

'Do you still use that lightening thing?' Isabela asked him, her eyes gleaming with mirth.

Anders laughed. 'I bet you'd love to know,' he replied teasingly.

Isabela pouted and slumped in her seat. 'Yes I would! But neither of you ever tell me anything! How am I meant to occupy myself?'

'It would not be wise to ask what she means by that,' Fenris said even as Margaret opened her mouth, tracing his clawed hands into the table. The metal tips of his armour left long, narrow gashes behind that were rimmed with a thin frost of sawdust.

Isabela grinned at him and stood up. 'Well I'm going to go and get some real sleep, if you don't mind. Are you sure you don't want to come?' she asked, offering a hand to Fenris.

He only shook his head and smiled.

'Other prospects I guess,' said Isabela, her words making Margaret shift uncomfortably. Fenris ignored her and resumed his scrapings.

'Remind me, Isabela,' Anders began good-naturedly. 'What exactly do you do for us?'

'I reconnoitre,' she replied innocently, her eyes wide. 'And I learn things that you, my little flower, would never have the skills to learn even in your dizziest daydreams.'

'Are you so sure about that?'

'You're all talk.'

Merril returned to them then, her hair a little damp and clinging to her head. 'Is Renly coming with us?' she asked, scratching one of her ears.

'Yes.' The mage had appeared silently behind her, making Merril jump.

'Oh,' she said, laughing nervously. 'How do you do that?'

Renly looked nonplussed. 'What do you mean?'

A barely audible sigh escaped Merril's lips. 'Never mind.'

It was an unspoken agreement between Margaret and Anders that Anders would not be accompanying her during her visit to the Chancellor. After she had finished eating her breakfast (and then thrown it up) and was preparing to leave, she silently wished that he would take the opportunity to at least attempt some research on his condition. Margaret lingered by the Tiger's Tail doorway for a moment, looking back at Anders once more- but he was busily writing his manifesto, so absorbed that he did nothing about the flecks of ink spurting upwards onto his chin and neglected to pass even one look in Margaret's direction when she walked right by his table.

She sighed and went out into the day, wrapping her cloak around her as the morning's dewy mist swirled about them, covering the streets in cloud. Renly led them to the Chancellor's estate; a stately fortress overseeing the surrounding city from a steep, bare hill. It looked newly built and Margaret was somewhat intimidated by the construction. 'He clearly doesn't expect any trouble, does he?' she muttered to Merril and Renly.

Merril looked at her. 'Really? I thought the opposite when I saw it.'

Margaret and Renly shared a quick glance and continued on without comment. Two guards stopped them at the gates. 'No one sees the Chancellor without official business,' one of them said flatly, stepping in front of the mages.

Renly held out a piece of paper bearing the Chancellor's seal, not deigning to explain himself any further. The guard looked at it and waved them through, calling for the men on the other side to raise the portcullis. Margaret passed beneath it and emerged into a large, dusty training yard. Soldiers milled everywhere, running drills, striking down practice dummies, carrying new weapons to and fro. Voices merged together into one chaotic cacophony, punctuated by the clanging of steel and the dazzling flash of heavy armour.

She looked at it all, open-mouthed, and sensed her companions stop to do the same. Suddenly one man emerged from the crowd, jogging lightly up to them. Margaret recognised him as Ser Favros.

'Champion!' he called out heartily. 'You certainly were prompt.'

'What is all this?' Margaret asked, gesturing at the small army before her.

'My Templars,' Ser Favros replied, the pride evident in his voice. 'We've been taking in any capable of bearing arms and training them here in the keep. It is humbling to see our people standing beside us.'

'They are impressive,' Renly commented, looking over the soldiers. 'How many are there?'

'We are nearing one thousand strong, and more arrive every week. There is a camp established on the back slopes behind the city walls, and many are eager to seek the wages and safety our force provides.'

Margaret opened her mouth to speak but Ser Favros interrupted her. 'We may speak about this afterwards. The Chancellor asked that you be brought to him the moment of your arrival. He is waiting, and has someone he wishes you to meet.'


	13. Chapter 13

Carver frowned and watched the water stream and froth along the sides of the boat. He had set out from Kirkwall's docks four days earlier, taking ship with a group of merchants who were headed to Ostwick. He shifted, feeling uncomfortable without his armour- Cullen had requested that Carver and whoever he brought with him go about their business discreetly, and that meant not telling a city of mages that the Templars were coming. He only hoped that Erik would have the sense not to give away their presence.

There was a cough behind him and Carver turned around to see Anna holding a mug of water and some jerky. For a moment his eyes lingered on the soft civilian clothes that clung to her form, coasting over the swell of her hips and the long legs which had been hidden by Templar armour and skirts, now revealed in a pair of skin-tight leather breeches. He forced himself to look away and felt the blood rushing to his face as he smiled and thanked her, accepting the food.

'Not seasick, then?' she asked, coming to stand beside him at the prow.

'Apparently not,' Carver replied. 'When I left Ferelden to come to Kirkwall I was ill the entire time…' He trailed off, suddenly feeling awkward, but Anna only laughed.

'I grew up at sea,' she said. 'My father was captain of a ship very similar to this one, escorting merchants and anyone else too respectable to know how to fight. He was _surprised _when I left to join the Order.'

'And why did you?'

Her face darkened. 'When I was seventeen we were carrying an apostate from Wycome to Brandel's Reach-'

Carver interrupted her. 'You were carrying an _apostate_?'

Anna nodded. 'We were. My father was very sympathetic to the mages and the one we picked up was just a girl my own age. Her name was Syna and I don't believe she'd ever been out of the Circle her whole life. She was so frightened,' she continued, her voice dropping. 'I think she was afraid of being in the Circle, and of being an apostate. After a few days she became quiet and then I woke up in the middle of the night- she was crying outside my room. I opened the door to let her in and she hardly seemed to notice me. She just kept talking to herself and sobbing. I'd never seen anything so… so sad.'

'What happened to her?' Carver asked, even as part of him guessed what was to come next.

Anna curled her hands over the rail and looked onto the water. 'She changed- became an abomination right before my eyes,' she said quietly, not meeting his eyes. 'That poor girl was turned into a monster just because she was so afraid, because of the abuses of the people into whose care she had been entrusted. She killed most of the crew and nearly took my arm off before father managed to throw her overboard, drowning her against the sides of the ship with a rope. After that day I knew that if I could stop even one mage from meeting that fate then my life would be worthwhile. But it's difficult, isn't it?' she asked suddenly, turning to Carver.

'What is?' he asked, feeling confused.

'I thought that if I could join the Order then maybe I could help to fix it. To make it operate the way it ought to- but so far the bastards I've met far outnumber those of us with any honour.'

Carver clenched his jaw. 'Like Erik,' he said darkly.

Anna nodded. 'If not for Templars like that then maybe we could find peace with the mages. So many lives would be saved and the mages could become a proper part of society. They wouldn't be hated and feared like they are now, and people would respect the Templars the way they used to. Instead all we have is violence and madness. It's a terrible thing.'

'Naw,' called out a mocking voice behind them. 'I didn't know I upset you so much, Anna.'

They both turned around and saw Erik standing on the deck behind them, his eyes and face lit up with a cold, glittering smile. He was rarely in his cabin and their time at sea had already lent a healthy, golden shine to his skin, making him look like one of the heroes Carver's mother used to read to him about.

'What do you want?' Carver snapped.

'Just to say hello- I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Such passion!' He laughed, the chiming sound of it ringing across the ship. He turned to Anna, his eyes baleful and gleaming. 'So, you really think the mages deserve pity do you? Considering their preference for turning into man-eating abominations I have to disagree with you.' He paused and his amusement was suddenly punctuated with a feral grin. 'I do believe I saw you fighting with Meredith on the night of the Annullment. Sure you aren't just being nice to get on Ser Carver's good side? He is quite the looker, isn't he? And he's known for taking it from behind wherever the mages are concerned.' Erik took a step forward and reached for Anna's hair, an expression of tenderness transforming his features. 'You wouldn't need to play such games with me,' he whispered, his fingers tracing her lips.

Anna snarled and pushed him away. 'Stay away from me, you monster.'

Erik laughed even as Carver was flooded with rage, his fists clenching at his sides in an effort not to simply lash out. The other Templar appeared not to notice and with a dismissive wave turned away, pausing only to call out over his shoulder, 'stop eye-fucking each other and get it over with already!'

Anna took a long, shuddering breath and turned quickly around, slamming one of her fists down against the railings. 'I _hate_ him,' she hissed, grinding her teeth. 'He's the one who should be put in chains. Why did the Knight-Commander make you bring him?'

'I don't know.' Carver made an effort to breath steadily, Erik's insolent smile smiting his eyes. 'Perhaps he just wanted to get him out of the way while he fixes the city.'

A smile suddenly flowered on Anna's face. 'I don't think anyone can fix Kirkwall. Maybe he's testing you,' she suggested. 'We have no Knight-Captain after all. He needs someone he can trust in the position.'

Carver bit his lip, considering the possibilities. 'Surely there are better ways to do it,' he said after a moment, finding himself agreeing with Anna's hypothesis. 'If Erik ruins this mission it could mean war.'

'Unless Cullen doesn't expect us to succeed.'

'What do you mean?'

Anna looked around anxiously, checking that they were not being overheard. 'I mean,' she whispered, 'that it's rather strange for him to send us, "mage sympathisers", away like this. The mages won't be stopped just by a couple of nice Templars- he must have known who you would choose to take with you. What if he doesn't intend for us to return? What if we were meant to leave the Order, taking Erik with us?'

Carver shook his head. 'No- the Commander would have told me himself if that was the case.'

'Unless he wanted you to do it of your own volition! He plants a moderate influence within the heart of the rebellion and gets to dispose of a troublemaker without ever having to be linked to it. When it's over you are names Knight-Captain and the Templars regain their respect in the eyes of everyone! And if you fail-'

'Then he loses nothing,' Carver finished for her, realisation dawning on him. 'But why would he assume the mages would even take us?'

'Because you fought against Meredith- they all saw you turn on her! Your own sister- one of their leaders- saw it! What else would they do?'

Carver said nothing, unable to quell the feeling of betrayal welling up inside him. 'I thought he chose me because I could be trusted- not because I was expected to abandon the Order.'

Anna reached out for his arm. 'I think he does trust you- but the Commander's in a difficult position.'

'Maybe.' Carver rubbed his eyes and smiled at her. 'It's cold up here- let's go and get some proper breakfast.'

For barely a second they lingered, both aware of the fingers curled around Carver's wrist, separated only by a thin tunic. Anna's eyes flashed to his and then just as quickly looked away. She let go of his arm like it was on fire and turned away, her voice falsely bright and cheery. 'Yes! Let's get something to eat!'

The next day they arrived in Ostwick and took rooms at an inn near the port. It was an ugly, violent sort of place- one that reminded Carver pleasantly of his days in the army. As he sat by the bar and looked around at the happy, drunken faces around him, Carver slipped into a reverie and recalled the evening he had had spent with King Cailan the night before they faced the darkspawn for the first time in battle.

The king had come down to the soldier's camp and was cheerily recounting tales of King Maric and Loghain, telling his troops that soon they too would form legends of their own, equally as thrilling and heroic as those of his father's. Carver had been fascinated by their young sovereign, eagerly listening to his every word to drown out his own fear of the dreadful monsters they would soon face. Cailan sung songs with them all, and before the night was through they were all drunkenly proclaiming each other brothers-in-arms, spilling ale all over the campsite as they slammed their mugs together. Carver still remembered the moment when the king had clasped his hand and promised, 'you and I shall be heroes tomorrow, my friend!'

He had even seen Alistair, Cailan's bastard brother, jogging up and down the battlements in the early morning and practicing his swordcraft with a number of other Wardens. Loghain had been watching the young man with a frown on his pale, careworn face; though at the time Carver had thought nothing of it. Now he saw that stern expression for what it really was: unhinged paranoia, a thing that led a great man to his downfall.

Carver was brought back to the present by a fist flying towards his face. Without thinking he ducked, spinning off his stool in one fluid movement. His attacker staggered and Carver caught a strong whiff of ale as he grabbed the man's hands and wrenched them behind his back, making him groan in pain. 'I think you need some fresh air,' he said pleasantly.

The man only grumbled and panted incoherently in response, his sanguine face contorted in agony and confusion. Carver pushed him away, unable to repress a small smile, and resumed his seat. He had never realised how much he missed being a free man, not bound by orders, politics. or a code of conduct- now that he thought about it, he knew his days in the Ferelden army were the best of his life. A part of him hummed with happiness to be beyond the gloomy stone walls of the Templars, to be wearing a tunic and trousers instead of heavy steel armour. Freedom was an intoxicating draught. And Cullen had known about it all along.

Carver wondered what kind of man his Knight-Commander had been before he joined the Order- the person he saw now was one so duty-driven and forbidding that he found it hard to imagine him in any other role. But perhaps he had once been something else: what if he had been a man like Carver? What if that was why Cullen chose him? He could have been offering him a chance at living a new life away from the trials and tribulations of Templars and mages. He also could be using him, just as Anna had said, turning him into another pawn in the endless political game between Templars and mages.

Or maybe Carver was reading too much into it. He sighed and picked up his mug, swirling the ale within, unable to penetrate its murky contents to see what lay beneath.


	14. Chapter 14

'Where's Connor?' Margaret asked as Ser Favros led them through the keep.

'Connor is one of the Chancellor's most trusted advisors,' Ser Favros replied. 'It is a rare occasion when he is not performing one task or another for him.'

The Chancellor's castle was warm inside, but decoratively austere. Plain furniture was grouped here and there in comfortable rooms, no rugs carpeted the scrubbed floor; and of portraits and other works of art that marked a member of the nobility there were few. Margaret found herself rather warming to the place, if not to the Chancellor himself.

Suddenly, a young boy darted out in the corridor ahead of them. He could only have been nine or ten. His burnished golden hair was short and messy on his head and he had large grey eyes that seemed almost imperceptibly dark, as though their pale hue was only an illusion. The boy stopped short and looked at Margaret curiously- he did not blink, only stared like a wild animal.

'Ah.' Ser Favros waved the boy over. 'Margaret Hawke, this is the Chancellor's godson, Alidyan.'

Alidyan said nothing, but came closer to Margaret in a few rapid steps. She smiled and held out her hand, feeling an odd, undeniable fondness for the strange child. 'Hello, Alidyan. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

He reached up cautiously and returned the gesture. 'Hello,' he murmured, his voice low and musical. The expression he wore was one of puzzlement.

'Where is your mother?' Margaret asked, still smiling at him.

'My mother?' Alidyan frowned, but his pale skin soon smoothed. 'She is with the Chancellor. They have many things to talk about.' His voice, despite its pleasant sound, was odd and clipped, like one speaking a foreign language. He also seemed unusually articulate for one so young; rather than finding it strange, Margaret only found it endearing.

'A very formidable woman,' said Ser Favros fondly. 'I think you will find her most interesting, Lady Hawke.'

'Who are they?' asked Alidyan suddenly, leaning around Margaret to look at Merril and Renly. Merril offered the boy a quick, pleasant smile, but Renly seemed to be watching him with something like concern.

'These are my friends,' Margaret supplied. 'Merril of the Dalish, and Renly from Starkhaven.'

'Starkhaven.' The boy said the name softly, testing it on his tongue. He turned to Merril, his strange eyes almost flickering. 'I've met the elves of the Dales. They are proud to be free- why are you in the city?'

'Hawke's my friend,' was the only explanation Merril offered. A light blush stole up her porcelain cheeks and she coughed, shooting Margaret a covert look.

'Perhaps it was time we moved on,' said Margaret, looking down to smile at Alidyan again. 'We have business with the Chancellor- perhaps we will say hello to your mother, tell her what a polite young man she has.'

Alidyan looked at her strangely, then ducked away and disappeared abruptly to wherever he had come from without so much as a wave or a goodbye.

'A strange child,' Renly commented, watching the empty space where the boy had been.

Merril made a sound of agreement, but Margaret only said, 'I thought he was sweet,' before Ser Favros ushered them along the remaining distance to the Chancellor's rooms.

Like the rest of the keep the Chancellor's suite was decidedly un-extravagant. Voices drifted out to meet them, echoing along the bare stone long before Margaret actually espied the back of the Chancellor's head. He was standing with his back to her in the doorway of his office, conversing with someone unseen. 'Yes, I think you may be right. Well, whatever it is he intends to do we must be the ones to act first-'

'Chancellor?' Ser Favros called out. 'Lady Hawke has arrived.'

The Chancellor spun around, adroit despite his years. His keen eyes crinkled into a smile and he idly brushed away invisible dust from the dark sleeves of his tunic. 'I am grateful for your timeliness, my lady. Please, won't you and your companions come inside?'

He stood aside to let them pass, revealing an imposing mahogany desk covered with papers and dollops of candle wax. Aside from that, the Chancellor's office was spotlessly clean. A huge fireplace stood against the far wall, empty now, but an unfamiliar figure stood in front of it, staring down into the hearth as if it were some fascinating object. The stranger was clad in a green hooded cloak that concealed their figure, leaving Margaret to wonder just who it was she had come here to meet.

'I trust you are well?' asked the Chancellor, seating himself opposite them and gesturing to the chairs already arranged on the other side of his desk.

Margaret thanked him and sat down. 'Very. Your city is impressive, Chancellor.'

'You are kind.' He smiled and folded his hands under his chin. 'I can see you are discreet- I cannot tell you how much that relieves me. No doubt you are curious as to the nature of my guest-' the figure beside the fireplace remained motionless- 'and I am happy to tell you. My lady Hawke, this is Morrigan.'

The stranger turned around, revealing a beautiful young woman with jet black hair and eerie golden eyes. Her dark lips were curled faintly with disdain, but she greeted them pleasantly enough. 'The Champion of Kirkwall,' she mused, 'at last we meet. Many are the rumours I have heard about you.'

Beside Margaret, Merril stiffened. 'This is no ordinary woman, Hawke,' she said softly. 'I don't like this.'

Morrigan laughed at her. 'Tis only fitting that I should meet a Dalish here, of all places. You wear the markings of a Keeper, elf- why are you so far from your clan?'

'Merril travels with me,' Margaret replied shortly, remembering the boy Alidyan's inquiries. 'What is it that brings you here? You speak as if you are from Ferelden.'

'My reasons are of no concern to you, Champion. My cause is the same as your own.'

Morrigan pulled away her cloak and set it aside carelessly, unveiling the wild, feathered robes that were hidden beneath it. 'Perhaps now you understand?' she asked, smiling faintly. 'Tis not in the interest of many mages to remain chained to the Chantry, so far as I see it.'

The Chancellor coughed politely. 'Morrigan is assisting me. I am not a mage, nor am I a man of particular intelligence- her services have proved immeasurably useful.'

Margaret turned to the Chancellor, her distrust of him growing. 'Exactly what services does Morrigan provide?'

There was a snort from the fireplace and Morrigan sauntered forward, throwing her pale skin into total relief as she stepped into the sunlight. 'You ask bold questions, Champion.'

Margaret stared back into those strange golden eyes. 'They say I'm a bold woman.'

'Indeed.' Morrigan smiled, truly smiled, for the first time at this. 'I have knowledge and power of a kind almost singular to myself- that alone is very useful to your…uprising. Beyond that, what makes you think you are entitled to know?'

'I wouldn't be here if I wasn't.'

'Ladies.' The Chancellor smiled ingratiatingly and held out his hands. 'We are all friends here and we all want the same thing- there are better ways to speak, surely?' Margaret could see Renly and Merril nodding in her peripheral vision. 'I called you here today for a purpose.'

Margaret reluctantly tore her eyes away from the strange witch. 'What was it?'

'The mages here love you and your troubled friend. It doesn't take magical powers to foresee that war will soon be upon us- and just as the Templars already have, we will need leaders of our own. Those who come here seeking refuge do so in the full knowledge that the time will come when they shall have to take up arms. That time is fast approaching.'

Something cold settled in Margaret's belly and she instinctively placed her hand over the slight bulge of her stomach. 'How soon?' she asked, surprised at how steady her voice was.

'An Exalted March is on the verge of being called. The Templar Order maybe divided right now, but if the Grand Divine makes her announcement those that remain loyal will abandon their crusades to join hers. I have sent word to our few allies and have reason to be encouraged- but currently our army is little more than a speck of dust on the Divine's heel. We need _all_ the mages to join us.' He said this very rapidly, his shrewd eyes fixed on Margaret and finally devoid of their deceptively benign expression. 'Connor is not without influence in his home. Word will not have reached you yet, but two days past the mages of Kinloch Hold made their escape- with the help of Ferelden soldiers.'

Margaret frowned and pressed her lips together to stop from gaping. 'Who would do such a thing for mages?'

A smile of triumph flittered across the Chancellor's face. 'The King's right hand, Arl Teagan. He is Connor's uncle.'

This revelation stoked a response even out of Renly. 'Does this mean we have the support of the king?' he asked softly, his face incredulous.

'It may mean any number of things,' the Chancellor replied. 'What we know with certainty is that a group of ships are making their way to Hercinia as we speak- nearly a thousand new recruits to our army.'

Margaret sat back in her chair, the news seeming unreal. 'Connor organised all of this?'

'He is an extremely diligent young man.'

She frowned and ran a hand through her hair. 'So why say this to me- what do you want?' she asked after a moment.

The Chancellor leaned forward and laid his hands flat against the desk, like two pale spiders. 'I want you and your friends to be my generals. To train our army so that when the time comes the Templars face nothing but their own destruction.'

Margaret shook her head, feeling dangerously dizzy. 'I don't know anything about training mages or leading an army.'

'Tis too late for that,' said Morrigan suddenly, almost forgotten to the side of the room. She frowned at Margaret, her strange eyes flashing. 'Surely you are not so weak to come so far, only to fail and retreat like a coward when you are most surely needed? The world is resting on the head of a pin and already it begins to tip- tis people like you and I who shall decide which side it falls to.'

'That doesn't change the fact that I don't know what I'm doing.'

'Nonsense,' said the Chancellor cheerfully, his happy façade in place once more. 'You have been leading men and women for almost a decade. You doubt yourself too much, my lady – and don't forget, we need you here.' This last was spoken almost like a threat, and it succeeded, making Margaret's conscience squirm.

She sighed in defeat. 'Then what would you have me do?' she asked tiredly.

'I would have you choose your captains- four of them- and begin the process of recruiting and training these mages, not only in the use of magic but in the use of arms. Maker knows that when the Templars arrive they shall need it. You will come to me in matters of significant concern, all else may be addressed to Ser Favros.'

Margaret glared at him. 'You make it sound like I'm your servant.'

The Chancellor laughed coldly, his grey eyes again like steel. 'My lady, we all must serve someone. I do not ask you to answer to me, but what I will do is remind you that it was me who opened the doors of _my _city to give mages a home and a chance for freedom. You say you believe in their cause- I trust you are not so infantile as to believe that you are of central importance to it. There is more at stake here than your own grandeur, Lady Hawke.'

Margaret said nothing in return, torn between sense and anger. Fortunately, it appeared their meeting was over.

'Morrigan,' the Chancellor called softly. 'Would you please escort our guests out of the keep?'


	15. Chapter 15

Morrigan, apparently finished talking, did not speak to them as she led them back through the keep. At least until the boy Alidyan appeared again, making her frown. Something odd passed in the air between them and Morrigan said, 'go back to your room.' Her voice was quiet and even, but Margaret could hear the coiled intensity roiling beneath the surface.

Alidyan blinked at his mother (for that was who Morrigan was, Margaret belatedly realised) but otherwise remained impassive, oddly devoid of any kind of childish animation. The silence stretched until he said, 'so these are your guests. I didn't realise.'

Morrigan, unnaturally still and tense, replied, 'Tis no business of yours, child. Return to your room. Now.'

'You wouldn't take away my dinner?'

Unbothered by his mockery, Morrigan only said, 'I'll do much more than that, be sure of it. Leave.'

Something flashed in the boy's eyes, the flickering of them disturbed only for a moment, leaving them dark and blood red. Before Margaret was sure of what she had seen they returned to their former strangeness, and without a word Alidyan turned and scurried away, like a fox disappearing into the brush.

Merril began to hum politely under her breath and Morrigan resumed walking without comment. Once they reached the gates of the keep she turned to Margaret. 'You will be seeking a healer, I assume,' she said briskly. 'Allow me to save you the time and tell you you needn't bother.'

Margaret frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'I can sense the infant inside you.' Morrigan's lip curled theatrically. 'The child of a Warden, is it not? Well, it will live- however much that comforts you.'

'How do you know that?' Renly asked, his suspicion plain in the grim set of his mouth and furrowed brow. 'No ordinary mage could sense a pregnancy just by being in its presence.'

'Then use you sense and assume I am _not _an ordinary mage.' Morrigan all but rolled her eyes as the portcullis began to groan and rose from the ground, the man pulling the giant wheel that upheld it panting loudly. 'Whatever else you choose to assume is not my concern.'

Margaret searched the witch's face. 'How do you know?' she asked, working to control her voice. 'Why should I trust you?'

'You shouldn't,' Morrigan scoffed, the edges of her lips turning upwards. 'A foolish thing to do- trusting someone at their word. But I may tell you your child will be unharmed, and you may choose to believe me.'

'I remember your name!' said Merril suddenly, her eyes widening. 'Hawke- this is who Asha'bellanar spoke of! Her daughter.'

Morrigan's face paled- it was a barely noticeable change, but Margaret saw it all the same. 'You spoke with Flemeth?' she asked, a line appearing over her arching eyebrows. 'When, elf? Where did you see her?'

'More than a decade now,' replied Margaret cautiously, drawing Morrigan's attention.

'Did she ask anything of you?'

'Nothing she would care to have repeated, I think. Your mother, whatever she is, saved my life- she has my secrecy.'

The groaning behind them stopped- the portcullis was raised and the way outside open. Morrigan regained her composure. 'You have made a mistake, Champion,' she said slowly, and then gestured toward the road. 'You are free to go. Expect a letter from the Chancellor tomorrow.'

Margaret hesitated. 'I don't know whether to thank you or not.'

'The child? Let me tell you this; there is no way to verify my claims. You will not know the truth of them until there is so turning back. So spare me your courtesies.'

Having nothing else to say, Margaret turned and the others followed. Once they were beyond the walls of the keep Merril gently shook her arm. 'Do you think what she said was true?'

Margaret thought about it for a moment, her thoughts pulsating and wavering between hope and doubt. 'I have no idea how she knew I was pregnant. That alone is enough to heed her, I think.'

'Well, I hope you're right. Will you tell Anders?'

'Of course. Listen, why don't you two go and explore the city properly? I have something to do.'

Renly and Merril both nodded and left, the two elves walking together away into the crowds. Margaret watched them until they were gone and then made her way back to the Tiger's Tail. Anders was still sitting at the same table, scribbling away. Margaret sat down beside him immediately.

'Anders?'

He looked up, his eyes glazed and unseeing. He shook his head and smiled at her, rubbing a hand over his face. The stubble that he always kept was now starting to grow into a short golden beard lining his jaw, and the lines streaking from his eyes seemed to have grown longer and deeper. 'How was it?' he asked, his voice husky with disuse.

Margaret smiled and waved for a drink. 'The Chancellor appointed me as one of his generals.' Anders' eyebrows rose. 'But that's not all,' she continued, feeling uncertain and giddy at the same time. 'I met a woman in the keep today- a very strange woman.'

'And who was she?'

'She said her name was Morrigan.'

'Morrigan?' Anders frowned and leaned forward, grabbing for Margaret's hands. 'Are you certain that was her name?'

'Yes.' Margaret rubbed her thumbs across the back of his hands. 'Who is she?'

'You really don't know? Honestly, do Kirkwaller's know nothing?'

'Anders.'

He sighed and waited as one of the barwomen plopped down a mug of ale next to his elbow. Margaret received one too and they sipped in silence until they were alone. 'She was a companion to Neria Surana- how could you not know?'

Margaret shrugged. 'I was sort of busy during the Blight. I know the king was a Warden too- that's about it.'

Anders snorted into his drink and pulled his hands away, wiping away the ale from his beard. He was soon sombre, however. 'When I worked with her in Amaranthine, Neria told me about her- she said that Flemeth sent Morrigan with them after Ostagar. She said that the witch worked old magic, that she was untrustworthy.'

'Then why did Neria keep her around?'

'I don't know. I got the impression they were friends despite the things she said.'

Margaret ran a hand through her hair. 'Do you think we could trust something if Morrigan said it?'

Anders held up his palms. 'Search me.'

'She told me our son was safe,' Margaret blurted, then took a deep breath. 'She told me he would be fine.'

Anders looked astonished. 'I want to believe that…' he said slowly. 'But I-' He stopped talking as Margaret slapped a hand to her head, tears sprouting from her eyes. 'Margaret?'

'How could we be so stupid?' she hissed. Anders reached over to wipe her face but she pushed him away. 'No,' she said firmly, suddenly smiling. 'These are good tears.'

'Why?'

'Because the king has children!'

Much to Margaret's surprise this did nothing to ease Anders' expression. On the contrary, he looked even more doubtful. 'Margaret,' he began, looking pained, 'there have always been rumours that the king's children aren't even his own. Queen Elissa was living with another man for an entire year before they were married- and the child was born early, significantly early.'

Margaret frowned. 'How early?'

'Four months.'

She sat back in her seat, feeling deflated and oddly hollow. 'But Morrigan said…'

'I know. I hope she isn't wrong.' Anders stood up and carefully collected his papers under one arm, then leant down and pressed his face into the hollow of her neck, his beard tickling her skin. 'We can't give up hope. You taught me that.' He kissed her gently, and placed his hand against the small of her back, urging her out of her seat. 'We'll find a healer as soon as possible, and we'll make doubly sure. And if we can't, we'll wait. We have to believe that our son will live- if we can't even give him that he may as well have no hope at all.'

Margaret nodded and got to her feet. She turned around and kissed him. 'You're right,' she murmured. 'I like your new beard,' she continued, determined to brighten the mood. 'It suits you.'

Anders' grinned. 'You know, I never thought I'd be a beard man, but I have to confess it's… grown on me.' He chortled like a schoolboy and Margaret could not help but join in.

'Come on,' she kissed him again and grabbed his hand. 'Let's go upstairs.'

They spent the rest of the day in bed, as giddy as teenagers. Margaret ducked under the covers as lunch was brought in, giggling and trailing her hands over Anders' thighs as he attempted to speak normally with the serving girl. The moment she was gone he ripped the sheets back and pinned Margaret under him, grinding against her and tickling her neck with his beard. She gasped and tried to wriggle away, but he only growled and dragged her back to him. 'Not going anywhere. Not after that.'

'I'll scream,' Margaret threatened, trying not to laugh.

'No you won't.' Anders swooped forward, pressing his mouth against hers. She soon stopped trying to escape, and just as Anders began trailing kisses teasingly down her collarbone another knock sounded at the door.

Margaret groaned and felt Anders smile against her skin. 'We don't have to answer it,' he whispered, beginning to move lower.

Before she could reply the door swung open anyway, revealing Isabela. The pirate let out a guffaw of laughter, and rather than turning away simply stood and watched, staring at a very naked Anders and a very naked Margaret as they lay strewn across the bed.

'What do you want?' Margaret gasped, diving or the discarded sheets. Anders had to stand up and pick up the blanket that had been thrown under the bed- but he seemed unconcerned as he did so, even flashing Isabela a wicked smile.

Isabela's eyes lingered over them both before she said, with obvious reluctance. 'A message came for you, from that mage Connor.'

Margaret, after making sure she was covered up, asked, 'Why would he be sending us a message anyway?'

'How should I know? I'm not a special mage person- I don't understand these things.'

Anders was already back on his feet, pulling on his robes. 'If it's from Connor it can't be good. You said he was meeting Bann Teagan? Maybe something went wrong.'

'Maybe.' Margaret too got to her feet and barked at Isabela to leave, waiting until they were alone once more to get dressed. She already missed Anders' smile and it only been gone a minute- no doubt it would be days before she saw it again.

'Go downstairs and read it; I'll be there in a minute.'

Anders nodded and left. Margaret slowly dressed herself before following him, reluctant to leave the warm bubble of her seclusion. She found everyone seated around the bar, even Aveline. She and the guard captain exchanged a glance and Margaret smiled- she had no desire to be angry anymore. 'What does it say?' she asked, sitting down.

Fenris answered. 'A contingent of Templars made camp not far from the landing site. It would appear they know the mages are coming and are awaiting them.'

'So?' asked Varric. 'One contingent against a whole army of mages- who cares?'

'The Templars will set fire to those ships before they reach the shore,' said Anders, his face grim. 'I've seen it before- a few ships is nothing to them, and they have ballistae which will keep them out of range. They have to be removed.'

Margaret pinched the bridge of her nose. 'Where did these Templars even come from? I thought they were all here in Hercinia.'

Varric sighed. 'Not _all _of them- the whole country's gone mad. I've been hearing stories about Templars roaming like wolves. This is hardly surprising, Hawke.'

'And I guess we're the ones to take them out.'

'I guess so.'

'Alright.' Margaret stood up. 'The thing is, I can't leave. The Chancellor is expecting me to start raising another army. Anders, maybe you-'

'Are you serious?' he asked, his eyes already blazing. 'I can't leave the city now, too much is happening!'

'Right. Of course you can't!' Margaret snapped. Avoiding any awkward silence she turned to Fenris. 'Can I trust you to do this?'

He nodded, his eyes fixed on her face. 'Of course. Who shall I take?'

'Whoever you like.'

'Then it's Varric, Merril and Isabella. We'll leave at dawn and return as soon as it's done.'

Margaret tried not to let the relief show on her face. 'Thank you, Fenris. I'm grateful for this. I trust I don't need to tell you how important it is that those mages arrive safely?'

'You do not.'

The whole revolution depended on it.


	16. Chapter 16

'Damn her!'

Alistair wiped everything off his desk in one even swipe, sending ink pooling in dark puddles on the floor. Papers and knick-knacks went everywhere, scattering into one misshapen deluge of objects. Resisting the urge to shout his frustration, Alistair turned and began pummelling the cushion of his chair. After a moment, much to his surprise, the wooden frame balked and shattered beneath the weight of his blows.

The door to his room opened, revealing a very worried looking Fergus Cousland. 'Sire?' he asked uncertainly. 'Forgive the intrusion but I heard…' His dark eyes widened as they took in the mess around him.

'It's happened,' said Alistair grimly, moving over to the pitcher of wine sitting by the window. It was his habit more and more these days. 'Who would've guessed that Teagan, of all people, would be the one to start a war? Ha- I certainly didn't see it.' He poured himself a goblet and took a long swallow, drinking in the rich, sour liquor.

Behind him, Fergus paled. 'Surely the Divine wouldn't… Just because of one man…'

'Oh no.' Alistair chuckled bitterly. 'It happened because I refused to kill my own uncle and because I wouldn't let the Chantry have their way. The glory of the Maker, right? I can't believe there was a time when I believed in it.'

'But what are we going to do? Teagan's taken his men north to the Marches, and the royal army still hasn't recovered from the Battle for Denerim or the Blight! Sire, we must make peace.'

Alistair shook his head. 'If only it were so simple. It's too late for peace- the Grand Cleric has been determined to get her Exalted March since the moment she came to power. I suppose it was going to happen eventually; I'm just surprised it took so long.'

'Then what are we going to do?'

The king turned around. 'The only thing we can do. Call for a Landsmeet- have it known expressly that the nobles are expected to be here within two weeks and to begin gathering their forces.' Alistair slumped against his bed and put his head in his hands. 'Fuck,' he muttered. 'Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!'

When he looked up again Fergus was still waiting by the door, stock still and white as a ghost. 'I'm sorry, Fergus,' he said as he stood up. 'I'm afraid we won't be hunting today, after all. Would you excuse me?'

'Yes, of course.' Fergus took a deep breath and left quickly, slamming the door behind him a little too loudly in his anxiety.

Alistair hurried to the window and poured himself another glass of wine. _King_, he mused sullenly. _Some king I am._

After dressing himself, having another two cups of wine and refusing breakfast, he hurried to the royal suite where his wife would be waiting, ready to begin the day's business. The throne room was a cavernous hall lined with the royal banners of the Theirins; white and golden griffons, something Alistair had designed himself. Close to the ceiling the walls were indented with windows which in the morning threw light everywhere, but for the rest of the day rendered it a rather dark place which had to be lit by a large amount of ornate chandeliers hanging by silver chains from the roof. The thrones themselves were fairly plain, but after sitting on them for a week and finding himself limping to bed because of his sore arse, Alistair had had some soft crimson cushions installed; and though she had never mentioned it, he suspected it was a change that his queen appreciated greatly.

Sure enough, Elissa was waiting for him, seated and magnificent in her court attire. She smiled at him as he took his seat beside her and Alistair was too distracted to notice her hurt expression as he disregarded it, ignoring her in favour of casting his eyes quickly over the hall- much to his relief it appeared it would be a comparatively quiet day; the disputes and quarrels of the gentry would be sorted before lunchtime and then he would be able to address the impending disaster of their war with the Chantry. He wished desperately that he could simply order the session closed for the day and hole up with his councillors, but to do would only incite panic and suspicion. Drinking another glass of wine to steady himself (he always found himself drinking more when Neria was gone), Alistair settled into his seat and plastered on his face the expression of benign benevolence which fooled so many of the snakes at court- even a decade later, many still expected him to be a pawn of his advisors or of the Wardens. At least the Grand Cleric had realised otherwise.

He heard their requests as patiently as he was able and gave out harsher sentences than those he normally imposed- he ordered a merchant involved in smuggling to be imprisoned for a year, for a noble accused of abusing his servants to pay a fine of four thousand gold pieces and to pay his staff double their salary before they left his service, and for a man who had raped a city guardswoman to be executed in full view of the public. Alistair delivered many more such judgements before the claimants were gone, and all the while Elissa watched him anxiously, occasionally trying to have his wine pitcher surreptiously removed- only to have Alistair call for a new one the moment it was gone.

Once he was done Alistair ordered for his lunch to be carried to his chambers- the moment he stood up he knew he was far too drunk to eat in public and that he needed an hour or two to sober himself.

As he was eating in his room, making sure to drink plenty of water, Elissa burst in, her cheeks flaming. 'What was that?' she shouted, flinging the door closed behind her. 'You were acting like Howe out there!'

Alistair tried to rein in his anger, but wine was still coursing powerfully through his veins and he found himself saying, 'What I do as king is none of your concern. You were brought here to be my wife, that's all- so shut up and mind your own business.'

The moment the words were out of his mouth and he saw the look of pain in Elissa's eyes, Alistair froze, horrified. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I didn't mean that.'

Elissa looked at him sadly. 'I know that wasn't you just now who spoke to me like that, Alistair- but I also think you meant what you said. I'm not here to be your queen-'

'Yes, of course you are-'

She held up a hand to silence him. 'If you had married Neria things here would be very different. We both know that. You and I respect each other, but you have never loved me; I've never been _your _queen, and I knew that was how it would be the moment I agreed to be your wife. I had no illusions, Alistair- but I care about this land as much as you do.' She hesitated slightly, then continued. 'I can't imagine how difficult it must be to be separated so long from the one you love- but you can't keep drinking like this. Look how it made you act today.'

Alistair sagged in his seat. 'That wasn't the wine,' he said dourly.

Elissa's scepticism was plain. 'Then what was it?'

'The Grand Divine has announced an Exalted March. All of her letters were intercepted so the Grand Cleric doesn't know yet- but she will soon enough.'

'Maker.' Elissa gasped and stumbled backwards against the wall, her blue eyes wide and suddenly fearful. 'No. This can't be true.'

'Oh, but it is. Will you do something for me?'

She nodded dumbly.

'Tell Chamberlain Hobbs to have my council moved here this afternoon. Also tell him I wish to see Zevran Arainai as soon as it can be arranged.'

These tasks were below the dignity of the queen, but Elissa, realising the unseen gravity of the situation, heeded Alistair's request without a second thought, flitting from corridor to corridor until she found Hobbs. Meanwhile the king called for a bath and buried himself in water until he felt his sensibilities return. By the time his councillors arrived he was dressed and sober, brushing back his honey-coloured hair; since his appointment as king, Alistair found himself neglecting its upkeep in the face of his duties- and had rather come to like the unexpected consequences. It now fell just below his ears and he commonly kept it flat against his head, the tips of his fringe curling against the nape of his neck. For a moment he reflected romantically on his time as a Warden (in practice at least- now, aside from the occasional nightmare, he only felt like a Warden in theory), remembering when Neria would cut his hair, spiking it up between her fingers and giggling as they waited for Leliana to cook dinner. Despite the maelstrom of dangers they faced on a daily basis, for Alistair they had been happier times.

Voices began to drift through his apartments and without further ado Alistair put on the crown and left his room to join them. His council was made up of five members- Shianni, the representative from the alienage; Fergus Cousland, the king's new right hand since Arl Teagan's departure; Aryn Monsti, head of the palace's "secret services"; Captain Kylon, head of the city guard; and Arl Wolff, who had retired to Denerim after the destruction of his lands. Officially Alistair had another, larger council- but with these five individuals (and the king, of course) was where true power in the city rested.

They took their seats as he entered, all of them trying-and failing- to conceal their curiosity. There was a string of 'Your Majesty's' as he sat down, facing all of them from the head of the table.

'Look,' said Alistair, 'let's skip the formalities. I have received word of an unprecedented event. Ferelden is at war- with the Chantry. The Divine has called for an Exalted March.'

Wolff was the first to speak. 'Madness! The Chantry's troubles lie in the Free Marches, not here.'

However, the other councillors did not look so surprised. Fergus, who already knew, said, 'We've been expecting this for some time after Teagan's…departure.'

Wolff glared at everyone. 'Then why have no steps been taken?'

'Because they're about to be,' said Alistair. He turned to Aryn, a pale older man with sky blue eyes and dark auburn hair. 'As of yet, the Grand Cleric is unaware of the situation. I took measures to stop the news from reaching her, but now I'm afraid more measures must be taken.'

'You need her removed,' surmised Aryn quietly, watching Alistair intently.

'Not exactly- Kylon, would your guards surround the Chantry?'

'It's hard to say,' replied the captain. 'Denerim is a divided place at best, but after the Blight the Chantry lost a lot of face, and you were turned into a hero, sire. I think they would- they've turned into surprisingly good troops, better than I had any reason to expect. But to say yes with any certainty… only a fool would do that.'

Alistair nodded. 'Test the waters, then. Speak to your most trusted. Aryn, I assume your men have no objection?'

'My men are loyal to the crown,' Aryn replied with a slight smile. 'They will do as you say, sire; but they are not shock troops-'

Alistair held up a hand. 'Nor would I use them as such. I want you to infiltrate the Chantry as Kylon's guards surround it- the last thing we need is a battle on the streets. Take Grand Cleric Constance hostage while Kylon's men get into position, hopefully it will keep the Templars from attacking.'

'And what about the elves?' asked Shianni, her eyes narrowing. 'We have done nothing to irritate the Chantry.'

'I'm aware of that.'

'Then what do your propose to do with us, _Your Majesty_?'

But Wolff interrupted before Alistair could speak. 'The elves are a matter of little concern in this! How can you suggest _abducting _the Grand Cleric? Nothing good will come of it!'

'And what other choice do we have?' Alistair countered. 'We can't capitulate- this is an Exalted March! It only ends when the Chantry has what it desires. There is only one option; fight and keep fighting until they can't take any more.' He chuckled darkly. 'I guess we should be grateful that it's happened now, when they're weak. I imagine we'd last about two days against a unified Chantry.'

Wolff stood up, throwing his chair out behind him. 'I won't support this.'

Alistair looked at him levelly. 'Then will you expose us?'

The Arl considered for a moment. 'No,' he said slowly. 'No, I will not. But I cannot remain in Denerim listening to you children play at politics. If you really think kidnapping the Grand Cleric will help you then do it. The only thing I see it accomplishing is disaster.'

Wolff walked away, disappearing from the room. Alistair watched him go, feeling his heart sink with foreboding. 'Shianni,' he said, turning to the elf. 'I understand that you may not want your people involved in this- but elven or not they are still Ferelden and will suffer as much under the Chantry as the rest of us. I implore you not to stand aside.'

She glared at him, her chin jutting forward. 'If we are truly Fereldens, prove it.'

'The elves were freed long ago- they can leave the alienage if they wish it. You can't expect me to control the actions of every human they encounter.'

'No, I can't. But if you want my support then you have to inflict harsher penalties on the humans which commit abuses against us, and give us more say in national events.'

'There are already two elven Arls- one of them Commander of the Grey. Last I checked that's more power than your people have ever wielded.'

Shianni shook her head. 'I want harsher punishments. I want an announcement from the king reaffirming our freedoms, and I want some sort of establishment to help maintain the alienage; it's not fair that we should live in squalor, fighting and dying for humans, whilst all of you are living lives we cannot touch no matter how far we rise.'

Alistair sighed and scratched his chin. 'If I do that I may lose significant support- support I need to resist the Chantry.'

'Shianni's right,' said Fergus suddenly. 'Do we value honest support and loyalty from good people, or promises from snakes who'll stab us in the back the moment we turn away? Anyone of good and noble judgement will stand by your decision, sire.'

Aryn scoffed. 'A war cannot be fought with idealism.'

'No,' Alistair conceded. 'It can't.'

Before any of them could speak further a knock came from the door and Chamberlain Hobbs appeared, carrying a letter on a tray. Alistair took it from him and looked down at the seal- the mark of the Grey Wardens. He opened it and scanned the contents, feeling an overwhelming smile of relief break across his features. He looked up at the others and threw the letter to them. 'But a war can be fought with armies.'


	17. Chapter 17

Margaret woke up early the next morning, sick. She rushed from the room, managing not to wake Anders, and lurched out onto the empty street, bowled over by the familiar sickening rush from her stomach. As she stood there heaving a hand pressed against her back and she was too grateful to question it. When she was done Margaret looked up and saw Fenris.

'Do you do this every day?' he asked, a line forming between his eyebrows.

Margaret shook her head, still busy trying to regain her breath, and let him haul her properly to her feet. 'Thank you,' she said shakily, pressing a hand to her mouth. 'Sorry- I must smell terrible.'

'You do,' Fenris conceded; but he was smiling. 'Come and have some water.'

Margaret followed him back inside and saw a table set with bread and mutton. 'I was already awake when I saw you run past,' Fenris explained as he sat down. 'Eat whatever you will- I have little appetite in the morning.'

Margaret laughed. 'These days, neither do I.'

They both looked at each other, seconds passed, and Margaret bowed her head. 'Where are the others?' she asked, casting around for conversation.

'Asleep, I presume.'

Margaret looked up. 'You aren't going to wake them?' she asked incredulously.

Fenris chuckled softly and folded his hands in his lap. 'If there is one thing I have learned it is that they will wake of their own accord, just in time.'

Margaret raised an eyebrow at him. 'I hope you're right.'

'You of all people should know.'

Outside the first beams of sunlight were beginning to show on the horizon, and as if on cue Merril appeared, trotting briskly down the stairs. 'Oh, hello,' she said smiling at them. 'Can I have some bread?'

Fenris smiled and pushed his plate over toward the other elf, his eyes flickering towards Margaret.

'What are you doing up so early, Hawke?' Merril asked, delicately shredding bread between her long, thin fingers.

Margaret patted her stomach and Merril nodded knowingly before looking down at her meal. Varric and Isabella appeared a moment later, the dwarf swatting away the pirate's playful attempts to touch his chest hair.

'Oh, just _once_, Varric!' she pleaded breathily.

Varric smilingly shook his head. 'Only when the others aren't looking, my dusky queen.'

Isabela placed a hand on her heart and swooned down the stairs, forcing Varric to catch her. He threatened to drop her when she refused to get to her feet and eventually Isabela capitulated, bracing herself against his shoulders she stood, walked two steps, and sat down. Varric promptly occupied the empty seat beside her and immediately reached for a hunk of mutton.

'What were you and Isabella doing all night, Varric?' Merril asked, apparently completely oblivious to the connotations raised by her line of questioning. But as she looked down Margaret swore she saw a smirk playing around the elf's mouth.

'Nothing you want to hear in detail, Daisy,' Varric replied smoothly, carefully avoiding everyone's eye as he poured himself some water.

They all began eating, everyone chattering loudly, until Fenris stood up. 'We've delayed long enough,' he said, suddenly serious. 'It's time to move.'

The others groaned but offered no objections, quickly picking up and buttoning on their packs and weaponry. Varric patted Margaret's hand as he made his way to the door. 'Keep an eye on Blondie,' he muttered, looking worried.

Margaret almost laughed. 'Can you imagine me doing anything else, Varric?'

The dwarf only shrugged, his tense expression not abating in the least. 'You know, Hawke….'

'What?'

He sighed and coughed, appearing- for the first time since Margaret had known him- to actually be uncomfortable. 'Nothing. Just save the trouble for when we get back, alright?'

'You have my word.' Margaret touched his shoulder and pushed him through the doorway. Isabela saluted her and smiled as she walked past, following Varric and wriggling her eyebrows lasciviously at the dwarf's back. Margaret rolled her eyes.

Merril went after them, humming cheerily, and Fenris followed a short way behind. He let the others get a little ahead before turning to Margaret. 'Hawke,' he said, his face composed even as his feet shifted uneasily.

Margaret smiled at him, inadvertently catching his deep green eyes. Somehow she understood what he wanted to say. It had been a long time since they were last separated. 'I'll see you when you come back. I suppose you'll bring an army with you.'

Fenris smirked. 'You'll have one of your own by then.'

'Theoretically. We'll see.'

He moved then as if to hug her but stopped midway, holding out a lyrium-infused hand instead. Margaret took it, feeling the callouses on his palms and the unnatural coolness of his tattoos. Fenris' grip tightened, and then abruptly he let go, hurrying outside without looking back. Margaret watched him go and quietly closed the door behind him. Almost reflexively she prayed to the Maker for his safe return.

Anders woke up nearly an hour later and found Margaret downstairs reading a missive from the Chancellor. 'What does it say?' he asked, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

Margaret looked up at him and saw the ominous circles hanging under his eyes. 'It says there's going to be a rally of some kind in the city square this afternoon- you and I are expected to attend.' She hesitated. 'How did you sleep?'

He waved a hand dismissively, making her frown. 'Anders.'

He sighed and changed the subject. 'I was looking forward to a morning of doing nothing. You know, that's the first time I've felt that way in years- usually Justice keeps me going all the time. I feel guilty when I rest.' When Margaret's frown did not abate Anders grimaced and sat down opposite her. 'I thought we were one indissoluble being- but he's been speaking to me in my dreams.'

Margaret put the letter down. 'Is that so unusual? He was there the last time we entered the Fade.'

'The Fade is his realm. Like the physical world is mine. I'm here in front of you, but out there…'

'He takes over,' Margaret finished. She lurched suddenly in her chair, as though stung by a sudden bolt of energy. 'Doesn't that mean all we have to do is enter the Fade-'

'And kill him?' Anders glared at her. 'It's not possible- our beings, whatever that means, are still entwined. And even if it was as simple as that, I wouldn't. He's my friend. I gave him my word.'

'How can you say that? Look at what he's done to you!'

Anders shook his head. 'No. I won't harm him.'

'But you'll die for him, or risk killing innocent people because he can't control himself? Anders, that's madness.'

He stood up and turned away. Margaret felt the tell-tale trickle of energy down her spine as blue light began to emanate from his skin, and she reached for her staff. But before it began it was over, and Anders stood still, breathing deeply and not looking at her.

'You can't continue on like this,' she said softly, looking at his heaving shoulders. 'Anders…'

'I won't see him harmed,' Anders said firmly. He turned around again to face her, his eyes pleading. 'Margaret, this isn't his fault. _I _did this to him- not the other way around.'

She shook her head and balled her hands into fists beneath the table, suddenly irrationally angry. 'At least let me try,' she said doggedly. 'Let me try to save you, Anders. You don't need him to help the mages, whatever you think. Whatever you have to say about him making you a better man…I don't believe it. I know you are and _always _will be a good person. Do you think I fell in love with you for any less?'

'I don't know why you fell in love with me,' he muttered, shamefaced.

Margaret stood up. 'Well I do. And I'm not going to abandon you. Our son needs us both.'

Anders looked at her, the expression in his eyes indecipherable. 'We haven't even thought about a name,' he said sadly. 'Are you afraid to do it?'

'He will _live_,' Margaret said fiercely. 'We will name our son when he's born, and by then I swear Justice will be gone. One way or another. I don't care if you still believe he's your friend- he's destroying you, Anders. And I won't let it happen.'

The defeated sag of his shoulders told Margaret that Anders believed otherwise.

She left the tavern shortly after. The days were beginning to grow warm again and Margaret no longer needed to wear her cloak as she walked the streets. Pushing determinedly through the surging city crowds she made her way to the keep where a large library was rumoured to be amassed. Ser Favros met her at the gates and pointed her way immediately, directing Margaret to the bowels of the castle. From there a servant led her down long, newly made corridors lined with torches. They walked in silence, Margaret too agitated to bother being polite to the man.

When he stopped and bowed beside a tall, curving entryway she stalked silently passed him and slammed the doors behind her so loudly the sound reverberated against the stone and shook the nearby shelves.

The library itself was completely dark, but Margaret knew why. This was a room intended for mages. Raising her staff she summoned a minor wisp and soon a ball of gentle blue radiance was hovering above her, casting light onto the tall, over-stacked bookcases. Looking up at them, Margaret was suddenly daunted. She had no idea where to begin.

'Looking for something?'

She jumped at the voice and spun around. Morrigan was sitting against the far wall behind a table. 'What are you doing here?' Margaret asked suspiciously. Her feelings about the witch were mixed at best.

'It would be foolish, would it not, to ignore such a large collection of knowledge? I might ask you the same question.'

'And maybe one day you'll receive an answer,' Margaret replied stiffly.

Morrigan laughed. 'The sensible thing to do would be to request my help,' she said, and with a flick of her wrist pushed the chair opposite her along the ground with a screech of wood on stone.

'I've heard stories about you,' Margaret said, not moving from where she was.

'And? I still have not decided whether tis wise to heed stories or not. For the most part I would rather rely on my own judgement.'

'I was told you cared nothing for other mages. That your only interest was yourself.'

Morrigan's yellow eyes narrowed. 'Tis a bold question to ask a stranger, Champion.'

Margaret shrugged and said nothing. For a long moment both women eyed each other like two stray cats in an alley, motionless, yet bristling all the same. At length Margaret turned away and went to peruse the shelves. When she came back, several books in hand, Morrigan was gone.

Casting her eyes around, unable to shake the feeling of being watched, she sat down at a table in the corner, just behind the doors, and began to read. What she found was not encouraging- there seemed to be no records of mages merging with spirits. All that the tomes dealt with was demonic possession and all espoused the same two solutions: kill the creature, or kill the host. She read it over and over again, in _Entreri's Enchantments_, in _Massolatov's Guide to the Fade_, in _An Accounting of the Spirit World_… Eventually Margaret slammed them all shut and resisted the urge to throw the books across the room. She reasoned a few hours must have passed and that the Chancellor's rally was soon to occur. Reluctant to miss it, she left the remaining tomes where they were and left, knowing the Chancellor would not take kindly to her "borrowing" from his library.

Beyond the keep more people seemed to be swelling the streets than usual. Soldiers mingled with the civilians and the mages, all of them eagerly flocking to the city centre; a huge square of white marble, lined with the flags of Hercinia and punctuated by a newly erected platform in its middle where the Chancellor and his entourage waited, silently watching the public file in. Morrigan, Margaret noted with interest, was not there- but her son was. Alidyan sat on the edge of the dais, his legs dangling off the edge as he nonchalantly surveyed the crowd. The moment he saw Margaret he motioned for her to come closer, and knowing she would have done so anyway Margaret went, feeling a strange willingness to obey all the same. Anders was there too, standing beside the boy with an odd expression of relief on his face.

'Hello, Champion,' said Alidyan, his soft voice carrying over the hum of the crowd.

Anders did not seem so pleased at her arrival, but he remained where he was and met her eyes briefly. He soon looked away, appearing for all the world to be ashamed. Margaret's heart fluttered sickeningly at the sight. However, she smiled at the small boy in front of her.

'Hello, Alidyan,' she said, expecting to have to try to be cheerful- instead it came naturally. The moment she looked at him she felt a quiet kind of elevation. 'Where's your mother?'

'Mother prefers the shadows,' he replied vaguely, the premature articulation falling easily from his lips. Margaret had never heard a child so young speak the way he did; and yet if anything it seemed only proper.

The Chancellor saw her then and signalled to his guards who began banging on their shields for silence. Eventually the crowd quietened and he stood, smile flashing coldly in the sun. 'My good people,' he called, his deep voice reaching each and every ear. 'I have long promised you sanctuary- and sanctuary you have had, and will continue to have. But our peace remains threatened; by the Chantry and by every evil force who would enslave all mages and their allies, regardless of what is good and honourable!' He paused and let his words reverberate before continuing, 'The Chantry will stop at nothing to see us all destroyed! Even now they launch an Exalted March against our only ally- Ferelden, a beleaguered and innocent kingdom whose only crime is to defend the lives of mages. Will you let this stand? Will you sit by and watch as the Chantry devours your hope and your freedom?'

There were many cheers and shouts at this. Margaret saw fists rise into the air and turned to see Anders looking up at the Chancellor almost reverently, his eyes shining and a wide smile stretching his mouth. For some reason she could not name, the sight unsettled her.

The Chancellor moved suddenly and grabbed her arm, hauling her up beside him. 'This woman has pledged her life to our cause. You all know her as Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall- well now that is about to change!' Thrusting her forward towards the churning masses he announced; 'I give you Hawke, your General- and Champion of Hercinia!'

In front of her the crowds erupted into ecstatic cheers, and Margaret looked on. Below her, Alidyan seemed unmoved, his strange eyes roaming hungrily over the people before him. Anders stood beside him protectively, still cheering like all the rest. Margaret took it all in and tried not to buckle as her knees turned to jelly.


End file.
